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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28442790">Lotf Oneshots</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Require_Holy_Water/pseuds/I_Require_Holy_Water'>I_Require_Holy_Water</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Lord of the Flies - William Golding</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>ADD/Attention Deficit Disorder, Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops &amp; Cafés, Alternate Universe - Deaf, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Fashion &amp; Models, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Blood and Injury, Boys Kissing, Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Face Punching, Fights, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff to the max, Headaches &amp; Migraines, Honestly just very fluffy, Hurt/Comfort, Insults, Internalized Homophobia, Kissing, M/M, Mostly Jalph, NSFW used as an insult, Neck Kissing, Nerds in Love, One-Sided Attraction, Piggy is Peter, Reckless Character, Reunion Stuff, Road Trips, Rough Kissing, Sexual comments, Sneaking Out, Tutoring, Vomiting, alternate universe - wild west, horribly sexual neck kissing, its like soft neck kisses u kno, its not like, nerds, oneshots, soft bois</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 21:28:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>35,301</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28442790</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Require_Holy_Water/pseuds/I_Require_Holy_Water</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Just some one shots, mostly Jalph but like there’s other people I gUESS-</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eric/Robert (Lord of the Flies), Jack Merridew/Ralph, Maurice/Sam (Lord of the Flies), Mulberry Boy/Percival (Lord of the Flies), Piggy/Bill (Lord of the Flies), Roger/Simon (Lord of the Flies), Wilfred/Harold (Lord of the Flies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>57</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. I</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There’s nothing Ralph Allebach hates more than the fact that his soulmate refuses to communicate with him. He’s tried everything, between writing little notes on his hand intentionally to try and get the girl to show up to little things, like dentist appointments, and drawing full designs up and down his arms. But no matter how many times his eyes have scanned up and down the halls, desperately searching for the ink designs lined on bare arms, he’s come up empty handed each and every time. At this point, Ralph isn’t sure he even has a soulmate. Or maybe, he’s too late.</p><p>
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</p><p>“If Ralph really had a soulmate, why wouldn’t they have responded by now?! Little notes or whatever-” Ralph tries to drone out the ranting of two of his best friends by looking out of the McDonald’s window. Peter and Simon have been going back and forth for months now, arguing over whether Ralph really has a soulmate. He can’t help but agree with Peter. There’s really nothing to be optimistic about anymore, and Ralph knows he can live life without a soulmate. It won’t be easy but he’s never been one to turn down a challenge. This one might be his biggest one yet. </p><p> </p><p>“Right Ralph?” Both boys are looking at him expectantly, a fry clutched in between Simon’s fingers as the tan boy gives Peter a small eye roll. Ralph just smiles, letting both of his friends know he wasn’t really listening to their argument. Simon grins at him before relaying the discourse in summary.</p><p> </p><p>“Peter thinks that looking for your soulmate is pointless seeing as you haven’t found her yet. But you’re literally only 17 and if you stop looking now you’re going to be lonely for years and years!” Simon glares at Peter as he finishes, one of the cashiers scoffing at the tan boy’s outburst. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh and you know <em> so </em>much about soulmates. Seeing as yours is Roger Volkov.” Peter gestures with a fry, making Simon’s cheeks tint crimson. The chubby boy smirks, turning to his right to convince Ralph to stop searching. Simon quickly regains his composure though, cutting Peter off before he can continue, earning a glare from the boy across from him.</p><p> </p><p>“What if we’ve approached this the wrong way!” The sudden outburst makes Peter wince, rubbing his ear. Ralph rolls his eyes at the boy’s overreaction, gently patting Peter’s shoulder as some form of reassurance. The boy just brushes him off nicely, shifting so he’s facing Simon again. Ralph can tell he's in debate stance, ready to argue any and every one of the dark haired boy’s points.</p><p> </p><p>“What if it’s a boy?”</p><p>
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  <em> “What if it’s a boy?” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Ralph can't sleep that night, staring up at the ceiling with a Paper Mate ballpoint pen held tight in his grasp. He can’t bring himself to draw anything, but if he could, he knows exactly what he’d do. He had stopped by one of the local office supply stores and bought a whole pack of pens, literally the one with the most colours he could find, and formulated a plan from there. A sketch a day that took up his whole arm. He’d make intricate designs while his soulmate slept and since it had to fade with time, they’d be much easier to pick out of a crowd. But he had no idea where to start, and his mother may as well kill him if he drew all over his arms. He asked her about it earlier and she had replied with what she always does. <em> “Small designs only, the ink will seep into your skin.”  </em></p><p> </p><p>Ralph rolls over onto his side, mind now running too quickly to think clearly. To weigh the consequences of his actions. He could always wear long sleeves tomorrow. She wouldn’t ever have to know. He just wants to know who his soulmate is. He's sure his mother did the same exact thing when she was his age. Ralph glances over at the pack of pens, gently setting the red one down on his nightstand. He sets the black one in his fingers, swinging it back and forth before finally coming up with the start of what could be a good idea. It’s slow at first, Ralph <em> is </em>just messing around with unfinished ideas, drawing small lines around the top of his middle finger slowly spiraling down. Eventually, he gets lost in it and the pens start moving on their own. Multicolored swoops form from the base of his hand, creating branches with flowers blossoming out. Then comes what he’s been drawing on his skin since he found out soulmates exist. A small moon on his left hand ring finger. He usually draws it in whatever pen he can find, glancing around for the small sketch on someone’s hand. Except this time he very shakily takes the orange pen and draws a sun on his right ring finger. He knows it’s hopeless, interacting with someone who hasn’t drawn anything back for 12 years, but a part of him craves that it’s not. He just wants to be acknowledged by the one person that’s supposed to be his other half. But nothing. </p><p> </p><p>Instead of losing himself in his own mind, Ralph just continues to draw, filling in empty spaces with bright colours that can’t be ignored. He traces over them and scribbles the ink in for long enough to know exactly where every little detail is placed. By this point, Ralph could redraw the entire thing in his sleep. Which is exactly what he wants. He wants to be able to see just a glimpse on someone’s hand and know that it was his doing. </p><p> </p><p>Ralph finishes the drawing at midnight, which is considerably sooner than he initially thought. It stretches from the top of his middle finger up to his elbow. He also added a little drawing on his neck that can’t be hidden very easily by clothing. It’s just a combination of little sketches grouped together, but it’s enough to go over the collar of any shirt. While he was drawing, Ralph had been tempted to write ‘Property of Ralph Allebach’ along his forehead, but decided against it. He couldn’t imagine how stupid he’d look with it written along his own head. </p><p> </p><p>He sends a picture to Simon, who’s been telling him some of his interactions with Roger for the past hour, showing off his work. Simon sends back a thumbs up emoji with the words ‘That’s some art they can’t ignore!’ Ralph chuckles to himself, clicking the power button on his phone before setting it on the nightside table. He only hopes that tomorrow, he’ll be able to find his soulmate like a beacon in a dark room.</p><p>
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</p><p>Ralph wakes the next morning a little too happy. He honestly can’t remember a time when he showed this kind of excitement about anything. Maybe the first time he learned about writing to his soulmate. And now he gets to <em> know </em>them. He’s sure his mother notices the mood switch from last night, but Ralph bolts out of the house before any real words can be said on the topic. His mom will make him show his arms to her and try to wash whatever he had on his arms off. And right now, that’s the last thing he needs. </p><p> </p><p>The fair boy ends up shaking all throughout the bus ride, Simon asking him if he was okay at least 7 times. Ralph knows it’s just from a bundle of nerves and the thrill of knowing who the love of his life is. </p><p> </p><p>“You know. You and your soulmate don’t <em> have </em>to date. Like mine…” Simon trails off, staring at Ralph’s face as the fair boy’s smile falters. “But I don’t think it’ll be anyone as stubborn as Roger. Good luck.” The tan boy quickly adds, placing his hand gently over Ralph’s. The boy gives his friend a quick smile, squeezing back in reassurance that he was, in fact, okay. Even with Simon’s words, the fair boy was more than okay. He was still somehow over the moon. He has the entire design memorized, there’s no way it’ll slip past him today. No way…</p><p>
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</p><p>Ralph sees the design on someone’s neck in first period. Then he sees the twirls and spirals that he drew on his own hand. His heart picks up speed. It was just a glimpse of what could be the exact thing he had inked on his own body, he shouldn’t get his hopes up. The chance of that being what he did, so early on in the day too, is so small Ralph is sure it can’t be his soulmate. So he glosses over it and does his English work, trying to pull the scribbles out of his mind.</p><p> </p><p>In the transition from first period to second, Ralph is notified a fight breaks out between Jack Merridew, one of Roger’s friends, and his precious bombshell girlfriend. They’re not soulmates. In fact, Jack’s soulmate drew matching symbols and his girlfriend freaked out, claiming she’d never drawn them before. According to half the student body, it was a screaming match between the two already, so when she saw whatever she did it was the last straw for them both. They weren’t soulmates and couldn’t make each other happy. They broke up promptly. Ralph feels bad for her, he can’t imagine being around Jack for more than 5 minutes. </p><p>
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</p><p>During lunch, another scream off happens between the two. It gives Ralph a headache to have to listen to their issues and he’s 6 seconds away from blowing his lid when Jack’s beloved stands up on a table and shouts, “Has <em> ANYONE </em> here drawn a moon on their left ring finger and a sun on their right??” and Ralph’s up in record timing, the entire cafeteria now staring directly at him. He swallows roughly, feeling dizzy. </p><p> </p><p>“Can't you two just be quiet? People are trying to eat in peace.” It’s the first lie he can think of. But the relief that falls over Jack’s face is enough to tell him that Jack really didn’t want to be his soulmate. And Ralph can’t blame him, he doesn’t want it either. But unfortunately Ralph knows. He knows what they are. But God forbid he tells Jack.</p><p>
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</p><p>/ / / </p><p> </p><p>“Allebach!” It’s the end of the day. He was so close. 3 more steps and he’d be out the door and walking home. But Jack Merridew said his name and he was undoubtedly with that girlfriend of his. They were trying to figure out if Ralph really was his soulmate. </p><p> </p><p>“What’s up?” Jack holds out his hand, an expectant look on his face. Like Ralph would just give up his arm for them both to inspect. He instead cradles it close to his body, trying to hide the ink that is now so blatantly drawn on Jack’s arm. It’s better than Ralph thought it was when he was drawing it. It looks nice on the other boy’s skin, the colours popping against the paleness. He chooses not to look at it for too long, he knows how suspicious that would be. </p><p> </p><p>“Can we see your arm?” Jack is quite obviously frustrated now, the tone in his voice making him so easily readable. Ralph shakes his head no, making the girl on the redhead’s right purse her lips.</p><p> </p><p>“Show is your forearm, Allebach.” And with that, she yanks his arm forward, causing a yelp of discomfort from his end and a strong yank back. But it was enough for her to see the truth. She knew. And by the look on Jack’s face, he saw it too. So Ralph did the only thing he could think of in the moment. He ran. </p><p>
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  <em> hey ralph 11:46 pm </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> this is jack btw. i got ur number from roger who got it from simon 11:48 pm  </em>
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  <em> can we maybe.. talk? whenever u want is okay. i’ve got nothing but time 12:00 am </em>
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  <em> is now a bad time to say that i kind of wanted it to b u? 12:37 am </em>
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</p><p>Ralph wakes up to 4 missed messages and a new drawing on his hand. It’s huge, big enough that Ralph is almost in awe. Little dots have been drawn over his skin, and something in the back of his head screams that it’s the placement of Jack’s freckles. In between each one, lines were traced to make a big connect the dots, or a constellation. Either way Ralph now has a map of Jack’s freckles on his skin and without really thinking too much about it, he reaches out and starts tracing the ink along his skin. It’s so erratic it bothers the perfectionist portion of Ralph’s brain but it’s also comforting in some sort of twisted way. </p><p> </p><p>Ralph soon finds out from his mirror that Jack has also drawn across the freckles on his face, causing a spread of blue ink to smudge all over Ralph’s skin. He tries rubbing it off, but it’s to no avail. All he can do is hope that his mother doesn’t see him. Even more though, he hopes that Peter and Simon don’t see him. </p><p>
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</p><p>“Alleba- ...Ralph. Can we talk? Please?” Ralph never thought there’d be a day where Jack Merridew is begging to talk to him. But here they are, Ralph stuck outside of the school with nowhere to go. His back is pressed up against the brick and his heart is pounding in his ears. He can hear it without even trying. Jack is just standing there, eyebrows knit together and a frown on his pale lips. They stand like that for what feels like hours, and in reality it has to be only a few minutes before Jack lets out an exasperated huff of air. Ralph’s ocean eyes widen as the boy reaches into his bag and pulls out a pen. The redhead rolls up the sleeve of his shirt as carefully as he possibly can, trying not to smudge any wet ink. Ralph highly doubts that all of it isn't dry by now. There are little freckles up Jack’s abnormally pale arms that havent been marked. It’s extremely close to his shoulder, close enough that Ralph is confused as to how he managed to roll his sleeve up that far. Jack raises his eyebrows at Ralph, a smirk playing in his lips as he juts his chin out. A silent message for the fair boy to do the same. The blond just inhales deeply, knowing his shirt sleeve won’t go to that point. So instead, he takes his fingers and very delicately clasps the collar of the blue fabric. His hands are cold against his neck, almost like a warning for him to stop what he’s doing. He pushes the feeling down and tugs the collar down to reveal his shoulder, Jack giving him a wicked grin in the process. He marks the freckle and just like magic, the same blob of ink appears on Ralph’s smooth skin. The other boy repeats the action on the final freckle on his arm, rolling the sleeve down after promptly connecting the two dots to the full drawing. Ralph slowly moves his own shirt back into position, eyes meeting with the boy he now knows for sure is his soulmate.</p><p> </p><p>“Was that enough for you?” Jack jokes, forcing a chuckle from Ralph. And before he knows it, he’s laughing hysterically, bent over himself and crouched above the ground. He’s not sure why, but he can’t seem to stop. Ralph probably looks stupid to Jack. He probably looks like he’s 10 seconds away from rejecting him. Letting them live their lives in pain and agony, knowing exactly who their soulmates are but too stubborn to actually go love. But no. It’s the opposite. Ralph isn't sure how he never once saw it before. Obscene gestures, horrible words, and constant teasing. Jack had walls up. He’d always been in love with Ralph and the fair boy wasn’t sure how either of them had glossed over it for so long. </p><p> </p><p>“You’re in love with me, aren’t you Jack Merridew?” Those words make Jack’s ears go cherry red. If he hadn’t drawn over them, Ralph is sure that his freckles would be hidden under a cloud of blush. The redhead breaks the eye contact, looking down at his sneakers. He scuffs the toe on the concrete, pursing his lips.</p><p> </p><p>“I think I have been for a while. It’s just never exactly the time to tell the one person you consider an enemy that you’ve fallen for them.” Ralph blinks twice, Jack plopping down on the ground right in front of him. The blond glances down between them, gently reaching out for Jack’s hand. When he finally takes it, the other boy’s head snaps up and he begins searching for something in Ralph’s eyes. It’s a long time before either of them says anything and the fair boy isn’t surprised it’s him. </p><p> </p><p>“Let’s maybe… Take it slow. I know we’re soulmates and this kind of <em> has </em>to work out. But maybe. Take it slow. I don’t want this to move so quickly that we lose any feelings we may have for each other.” And Jack is agreeing so quickly Ralph is sure he didn’t even hear what the fair boy said. </p><p>
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</p><p>It takes them 3 months before they actually come out to everyone who matters to them. The entire school found out they were soulmates the day of. Word travels quickly and when Ralph Allebach and Jack Merridew have the same exact marks on their arms and faces, it’s no coincidence. Simon, of course, laughs in Peter’s face then chews Ralph out about even <em> considering </em>a relationship with the boy who bullied all of them for years. Peter is unshockingly against them as well, claiming he’d rather see Simon and Roger together than Jack and Ralph. But both of them slowly warm up to the couple and within a couple months, even Peter is supportive of the two. </p><p> </p><p>They’re lying on the hardwood floor in front of Jack’s fireplace, Ralph on his back and scrolling through Instagram. Jack rolls over and pecks his cheek, something they’ve been doing for months so Ralph just sends him a small grin before returning to what he was doing.</p><p> </p><p>“Can I kiss you? Like properly kiss you. I know we’ve been doing cheek kisses and forehead ones… But I want to actually <em> kiss </em>you.” Ralph drops his phone on his nose, the pain now shooting through his face temporarily ignored as he shoots his gaze to Jack. The boy is lying on his side, facing Ralph. His arm is acting like a pillow and he looks so genuine. Likes he’s not pulling some sick prank, or doing this on Roger or Simon’s request. Like Jack actually wants to kiss Ralph. And God, Ralph knows he absolutely wants to kiss Jack. </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah. Please.” The fair boy is shaking when Jack leans in, breath hitching when he’s just centimeters away. The redhead grabs his face, pushing it back gently when the door to the room swings open, Ralph frantically getting the signal and returning to scrolling on his phone that had been forgotten behind him. </p><p> </p><p>It’s just Jack’s mother with groceries, but it’s enough to kill the mood between them. Jack simply goes back to peppering kisses along Ralph’s temple, but never daring to go any further. The blond didn’t realize it at the beginning, but he’s doing what Ralph asked. He’s taking it slow. And the fair boy is extraordinarily thankful because he knows that this, even with his soulmate being Jack Merridew, is exactly what he wanted. And he couldn’t be any happier. </p>
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<a name="section0002"><h2>2. II</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>For Crazy girl on ao3, thank you for the request!! ^^</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jack has never been the best at flirting. In fact, when it comes to showing any feeling at all, he’s probably one of the worst candidates. He really can’t remember a time when he wanted to flirt with anyone, let alone actually doing it. Most of the people at his school were stuck up protégés, the same nameless face copied and pasted on a school of 1,000 kids. It’s why he had infrequent flings, nothing more. He couldn’t bring himself to want any more. He would give giggly girls a look that apparently started something churning in their stomachs. They’d meet him in a hallway and that would be that. Nothing else would come of it, and he wouldn’t even think twice about them. It was all the same perfect hair, toned body. Nobody had ever come along to prove him otherwise. It’s why he didn’t think he really <em>needed </em>flirting abilities. He was never going to use them, so why bother. </p><p> </p><p>It was a decently sunny Tuesday when Roger walked up to Jack, a panicked look in his eyes. It was right after the week of spring break, which meant that birds were back and chirping as loudly as possible. It also meant that the walk to the bus stop was considerably more pleasant, seeing as Jack no longer felt like his fingers were going to freeze off every time. The redhead even went to the extent of leaving his winter coat inside of his house, making the walk in a heavy flannel instead. Even then, his body felt hot. But the sudden emergence of healthy looking grass and wildflowers was worth the sticky heat that came with it. </p><p> </p><p>However, standing on the concrete, texting Roger, who’s mood he couldn’t quite place, was concerning for Jack. He can’t remember a time when the boy had been so unreadable to him. It was always the same old annoyance in his tone and craving for escape from conversation in his eyes. It was probably the real reason the entire student body was petrified of the boy. His emotions were limited to exclusively the negative ones. And he’d built quite the reputation for himself. Not the kind you’d want surrounding your name. However, right now he appears to have forgotten his entire personality, or shoved it into the nearest garbage bin. </p><p> </p><p>When his friend finally did come to a stop right next to him, Jack can’t help but raise both eyebrows. He was asking a silent question. One they both knew way too well. He wants to know what the actual fuck was going on. </p><p> </p><p>“Ralph and Simon… They’re coming back to school today.” Roger manages the question out through gulps of air, undoubtedly from the fact that he practically sprinted all the way from his house to his current location. Jack isn’t sure why this is so important, or why the usually calm and collected brick wall is freaking out over such minor people returning. Sure, the two boys had switched schools before but them coming back shouldn’t be too big of a deal. </p><p> </p><p>“Okay.. So?”</p><p> </p><p>“Fuckin’ Hell Jack. Simon. Simon Cortés. Choir boy Simon,” Jack nods. He knows exactly who the boy is and still doesn’t see the point. “The boy who I’ve been in love with since <em>sixth fucking grade </em>!?!” </p><p> </p><p>“OH SHIT-” Jack’s hand flies up to his mouth, Roger swiftly burying his face in his hands. A groan escapes the coarse haired boy’s lips, inaudible words following quickly after. Knowing the boy, it was probably swears that he made up on the fly. </p><p> </p><p>There were 2 real issues that Jack was running into. Simon Cortés was a gentle soul. Someone who was incapable of being hated. Someone who could melt the coldest of hearts. It was how he became so close to Roger. Between the thick curls that decorated his head and kind forest green eyes, Jack could see how people who were rough and tough would somehow lose themselves around Simon. </p><p> </p><p>Simon being kind wasn't a real issue. It was that Roger was so undeniably different from Simon that could be a problem. Jack had no way to describe the boy’s method of talking other than creepy, add flustered to the mix and Roger becomes absolutely broken. In all honesty, Jack can’t <em>wait </em>to see how this plays out. </p><p>
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</p><p>As suspected, the minute both boys see Simon walk through the front doors Roger makes up some odd excuse and bolts from the hallway. He leaves so quickly that Jack has to shut his locker for him, which only signals to the redhead that this crush is a lot more serious than he thought. He’s tempted to tell the boy to simply shoot his shot, nobody can creep Simon Cortés out. Especially since he’s been friends with both boys for so long. </p><p> </p><p>Speaking of which, the boy has now approached Jack, a sour look on his face. Ralph is right beside him, scrolling through some sort of social media app, eyes trained on the screen. The more he stares at him, the more Jack realizes that this isn’t the boy that he knew 4 years ago. That Ralph was stuck up, obnoxious, and self centered. That Ralph hadn’t quite finished puberty yet, so acne decorated his face. That Ralph didn’t know what he wanted to be. The Ralph that was standing right in front of him seemed to have it all figured out. And Jack wants to know more. </p><p> </p><p>“Sooo. You two have changed quite a bit.” Ralph nods at Jack, Simon raising his eyebrows in response. They both seem to be a little on edge around Jack. The redhead can’t really blame them. He was nothing but cruel for years on end. </p><p> </p><p>“Ralph you're. Decently attractive. For a guy.”</p><p> </p><p>“Jeez Jack, just call me attractive.” Ralph crosses his arms and gives the boy a dirty look, like the redhead had said something wrong. “Or are you afraid of being seen as gay?” </p><p> </p><p>“If you think I have an issue with gay people then I’m afraid you’re dead wrong. Plus, my best friend is bisexual, it’s not like I ignore that and go around dissing people who like the same gender.”</p><p> </p><p>“He’s what? You’re talking about Roger right? Like Roger Volkov? Like <em>our </em>best friend???” Jack freezes on the spot, regretting his decision to open his mouth. Roger was going to kill him for this. </p><p> </p><p>“Uh- Yeah! Yeah. Roger. Our friend.” Simon purses his lips before looking to Ralph, who has since turned back to his phone, smiling at something on the screen. </p><p> </p><p>“Ralph, Roger likes boys.” The blond’s head shoots up, eyes wide as he stares at Simon like the tan boy proposed they jump off the Golden Gate Bridge. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh damn. Si, you’ve really gotta ask him out at some point. He’s not gonna do it himself and he might like you.” </p><p> </p><p>“UM WHAT?? HI I'M STILL HERE??” Jack whips his head between Simon, who’s bright red at this point, and Ralph who doesn’t appear to regret anything. The blond instead turns on his heel, leaving Jack’s childhood friend with him alone in a hall that's slowly clearing out. First period does start soon, but Jack has a feeling they both have choir first thing, and if they walk in together, the choir teacher will let them off easy. Especially if Jack goes up and whispers in her ear exactly why. </p><p> </p><p>“So… You like Roger?”</p><p> </p><p>“I- Well yeah.” Simon scratches the back of his neck, leaning against the locker. “I used to find him creepy. Y'know with the whole rumour going about the school. <em>He’s a sociopath! He’ll hurt you! </em>So whenever I was in choir I made sure that you Robert, or Bill were with me so I would be safe around him. But we got to talking and as creepy as some of his attempts to get to know me were, I realized that he wasn’t as bad as our peers made him out to be.”</p><p> </p><p>“God he’s gonna kill me. You do know he was trying to flirt with you right?” Simon drops the books he was holding, the noise getting attention from a few passerbys. </p><p> </p><p>“T-They were??” Simon's eyes are as wide as saucers and Jack can’t help but laugh a little at it. He nods, watching Simon slump against the locker, head in his hands. “Oh God, I’m such an idiot.” </p><p> </p><p>Jack just pats the tan boy’s back, leaning down to collect the books and hand them back to his friend. He can’t really blame Simon for being so flustered. He did just get told that the boy he’d been crushing on liked him back. Out of the blue as well. In fact, seeing as the redhead has known Simon for as long as he can remember, if he had any other reaction, Jack would’ve been a little suspicious. </p><p> </p><p>“What am I gonna do?”</p><p> </p><p>“Confess.”</p><p> </p><p>“Haha very funny Merridew. You and I both know that’s about as likely as you confessing your feelings to Ralph.”</p><p> </p><p>“My feelings for Ralph? The only thing that I think about Ralph is that he may <em>look </em>good but he’s got the personality of a middle aged man who’s freshly mowed lawn I just stepped on.” Simon giggles at Jack’s words, the warning bell ringing just as he does so. There’s no way they’d make it to class on time at this point and Jack is seriously considering ditching anyways. However, Simon convinces him to haul himself to choir, probably because he’s genuinely curious to see how the interaction between Roger and Simon is going to play out. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>/ / /</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Jack ends up in the middle of Simon and Roger and he swears he’s 5 seconds away from exploding. The tension between his 2 friends is so high that he’s about to start flirting for them, and he can’t flirt for shit. The teacher ends up gracing them with 30 minutes of free time to practice the songs they’ve been assigned, but Simon and Roger just remain as quiet as they were when she was talking. </p><p> </p><p>“So are you two gonna keep remaining silent-? Because if so I’ll just go grab a fucking knife to cut the tension in here.” Roger chokes on his spit at Jack’s words, Simon inhaling sharply at the same time. “I mean I can flirt for you two if you’re incapable.”</p><p> </p><p>“No Jack I think-”</p><p> </p><p>“Simon has anyone ever told you that you have the prettiest eyes ever. And I mean ever. They’re like emeralds but there’s a certain glint to them when the sun hits them right that makes them so easy to get lost in. Speaking of you in the sun, you look gorgeous in the sunlight. The way it makes you look like a God is really breathtaking.” Roger’s cheeks have gone completely crimson and he decides to busy himself with flipping through sheet music as Jack rambles on. </p><p> </p><p>“Rog?” The normally stoic boy jumps almost 5 feet in the air when Simon utters his name. Jack immediately senses that something is gonna happen and lets Simon take his seat, putting his earphones in. He doesn’t actually turn on any music, just listens in on the conversation he should probably be tuning out.</p><p> </p><p>“Rog can we… talk? Like properly. After school or something. Maybe you could… Take me to the café? It could be like…”</p><p> </p><p>“A date?” Roger finishes Simon’s sentence and Jack is almost shaking with anticipation.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah. A date.” </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>/ / /</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Simon quickly decides at the end of the day, after spending an abnormally high amount of time clinging to Roger’s side, that Jack should flirt with Ralph. The redhead adamantly declines because it’s not like he has any flirting ability. But he should’ve known by now that Simon Cortés always gets his way. Before he can blink an eye, he finds himself in front of Ralph, hands shoved deep into his pockets.</p><p> </p><p>“What is it Merridew?”</p><p> </p><p>“I just wanted to let you know that you’ve changed.”</p><p> </p><p>“I suppose you think that it’s in a bad way.” Ralph slams his locker door shut, the loud noise catching people’s attention from across the hall. “Well Mr. Merridew, I’m not as scared of you as I used to be. And you’ve been coming off like a real jackass recently.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh well that’s not a good thing.”</p><p> </p><p>“Really? With the sarcasm?” Jack looks to Simon, eyes pleading for help. The tan boy inhales and exhales slowly, stepping forward.</p><p> </p><p>“Ralph, he's trying to flirt with you.” Jack goes cherry red, the blond boy’s cheeks soon following. </p><p> </p><p>“Well I’m… Flattered but-” The boy is cut off by a shrill cry of his name. An undeniably pretty girl is rushing towards them, her body pressed up against the back of Ralph’s in an instant. Jack feels his heart ache, something he tries to ignore.</p><p> </p><p>“Um. This is my girlfriend.” With those simple words, Jack can feel heart shatter. He doesn’t know why he thought that Ralph would like blokes, let alone date one that had tormented him for years. Instead of lingering and letting everything fully set in, Jack turns on his heel and walks away.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <b>/ / / </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>And just as he found him again, Ralph watches the boy he’s loved since he was 6 turn his back and leave.</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. III</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>It’s Bill x Piggy because I love my gay sons</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Bill has to face the fact that he desperately needs a tutor. He can’t bring himself to focus in class - which isn’t entirely his fault, the teachers just didn’t capture his attention like little flickers of light did - and they had begun to notice the fact that his report card went from bad to awful once he became friends with Jack Merridew. The red headed devil of the school did convince him that school didn’t matter as much as things that made him feel alive, making his limbs burn with the satisfaction of doing something so incredibly stupid even Maurice would wince. But it made him feel like he was invincible, even if he was simply mortal. However, it meant that he never got homework done. Which meant that 15% of his grade was a 0 and he wasn’t exactly the brightest bulb to begin with. The guidance counselors had suggested getting him medicine for his ADD, which his parents </span>
  <em>
    <span>insisted </span>
  </em>
  <span>was unnecessary, and finding him a tutor. Bill never really liked tutors. They watch over your shoulder as you desperately try to figure out the square root of 56.79 without a calculator, snickering when you come up empty handed. But his parents were like stone when they had made up their mind on something. It was all settled. Bill Wright was in need of a tutor and there was no wriggling his way out of this one. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Staying after school is certainly not something that feels normal in Bill’s gut. The halls are so quiet it’s making his head pound and his history teacher is whispering something on the phone attached to the wall, glancing back at the blond enough for him to know that he’s the subject of the conversation. The older man finally stands up and dusts off his tweed jacket, grabbing his laptop bag. Bill has no idea what to do, just sits at his desk fiddling with a pencil. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well. Mrs. Morris wants you in room 204. The boy tutoring you is waiting up there along with her. I’ll see you tomorrow Bill.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“See you tomorrow, Mr. Harris.” And now he has no choice but to face the one person he’s been so frightened of for so long. No amount of squeezing his eyes shut will make the moment go away, no amount of ignoring the ticking of the clock on the wall will make him magically appear at home, in his bed. If only.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The squeaking of his sneakers on the tile floor is driving him crazy as he slowly makes his way up the staircase and to a dreary looking English room. There’s two students inside, one with their back turned to Bill and one looking directly at him. Usually he’d be worried that he had stumbled into the wrong room, but the boy looking at him smiles and raises his eyebrows, signaling that he is in the right place. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bill slides in across from the boy, the face permanently burned into the blond’s memory. Round cheeks, glasses that sit in front of chocolate brown eyes that observe his every movement, light brown hair that looks like it has blond highlights when the overhead lights hit it just right - it looks gelled but according to most, it’s not -, red constantly tinged across his face like the boy is perpetually embarrassed by his own words. Peter Curtis is hard to forget, especially because Bill’s friends had given the boy the nickname “Piggy.” Of course he was his tutor, Peter seems to never have anything but time to work on school. Bill respects it to an extent, plus he never really had it in him to tease the boy. Between the horrible insults thrown at him and how much his friends brush him off, Bill almost feels bad for Peter. Almost.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So. You’re failing Trigonometry, English, and Econ and Personal Finance? You know that’s a class 11th graders take?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah yeah and I’m in 12th grade. I didn’t get the chance to take it last year because my schedule was already jam packed with… Advanced placement courses so they ended up chucking out Econ and Personal Finance for the next year.” Peter nods, writing something down on the paper that Bill didn’t even notice was in front of him. He swears the boy fabricated it out of thin air, but with how he’s been distracted recently, he’s not sure that he would’ve seen it anyways.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mmkay. So you just need a little bit of help.” The boy leans back and starts to nibble on the end of the pen, gesturing with it as he continues. “Cause you’re not technically </span>
  <em>
    <span>failing </span>
  </em>
  <span>any of the classes. The school board just decides that anything under a C means you need extra help outside of school hours. No shame in that to be honest. Trig is a really hard class, English kinda sucks in and of itself, and Econ and Personal Finance is a lot of memory based knowledge which I’m assuming you’re not great at. I can work with that.” Peter raises his eyebrows again, leaning forward and looking Bill directly in the eyes. Bill blinks, looking down instead of at the other, focused on the mandatory blue and grey tie that the students have to wear for uniform. It’s not that he’s embarrassed by his grades, or even a little worried that Peter is judging him. He just can’t hold the gaze of a boy who he used to watch be made fun of by people he now considers friends. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Unless you don’t want to work with me and do it on your own. That’s what Henry did.” Peter gestures with his pen to the other boy in the room, who is now sitting in a bean bag and going back and forth between a laptop screen and a sheet of lined paper. Bill finds himself catching his lip between his teeth as he turns back to Peter, who’s looking at him with expectant eyes. Bill has to bite back the swear that almost rolls off of his tongue. He's sure Peter would kill him for it before Mrs. Morris could even get to him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Um. No thank you. I’d rather work with you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s what I thought. I figured you’d be too distracted working alone so I’ll be here to keep you on task. And other things too. Like help you with the questions or even do some of them for you.” Peter leans back in his chair, and Bill is just noticing how much the other boy talks with his hands. Perhaps he didn’t pay as much attention to the boy before as he thought he did.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>/ / /</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Tutoring with Peter became a daily after school activity, although Bill didn’t really mind. Despite what he initially thought, he had grown close to the boy. They were trusted enough to be left in a room alone together while Mrs. Morris took Henry down to the library to help the poor boy do his work without having to listen to the other two. Bill’s grades have since skyrocketed, him mostly acing his tests. Those he doesn’t get an A on, Peter reviews the material with him and makes sure that Bill understands everything from the unit. Somehow, Peter makes studying bearable and Bill finds himself actually paying attention with little to no distractions. Occasionally he gets Peter off topic with his pointless rambles, but for once someone who’s trying to help him listens and responds, then somehow pulls his attention back to the task at hand. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Today is particularly tense between the two though. Bill cannot seem to figure out the math problem for the life of him and is about 2 seconds from breaking into tears. The frustration is with himself is building and he can almost see the worry radiating from Peter. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Bill it’s not the end of the world that you don’t understand the problem. If it takes 1 try that’s great! But if it takes 1,000 tries then I’m gonna call you Thomas Edison.” Bill laughs weakly, head dropping down to his hands. “Bill you know you can do this. I know you can do this. Wanna restart or move on? It’s literally the last problem of the day but I can give you a new one instead.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No. I can do this. I just- Can I go get water or something?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah sure. Henry and Mrs. Morris will probably be back in… 15 so be quick.” Bill nods and rushes off, not expecting much from the empty halls of the school other than complete silence.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The halls are in fact, not silent. His friends are standing around the boys bathroom, Roger blowing smoke out of his mouth. He doesn’t really want to face them, even if they are in the way of the water fountain. Bill has been blowing their text messages off, muting the group chat entirely because he couldn’t stand to see the vicious teases against his tutor. He decided it was better that they didn’t talk about his tutoring anyways. None of his friends need to know that he can barely do basic math without getting distracted unless Peter taught him. Bill instead hangs a right around the wall, pulling out his phone to tell Peter he’s coming back but hears his name out of Jack’s mouth before his fingers start typing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Y’know Bill’s been acting kinda weird lately. Beginning to think the bitch is avoiding us on purpose.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Obviously he is. You don’t see him staring longingly across the cafeteria at Allebach’s table? Beginning to think he fancies Piggy with how much he looks at that fucker.” And Bill’s rushing out and landing a punch on Roger’s jaw before he can even process what he just did. Jack stumbles back and into Robert, icy blue eyes ablaze with rage and Roger is now nursing the jaw that Bill’s hand made contact with.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh you little </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How about you keep your mouth shut next time. And while you’re at it, don’t ever talk to me again. I don’t need to hear you insulting people that do more for me than you ever will.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You sucking his dick or something?” Something in Bill’s stomach turns and he's launching himself on Roger again, the raven haired boy still not expecting it and his head collides with the wall. Jack and Robert have since run off, scrambling to get away from the fight. Nobody ever won against Roger and Bill doubted he really would. But his body was full of adrenaline and there was no control over his actions. Roger grabs his arm and smiles a little too sweetly before switching their positions, pinning Bill’s arms behind him, pulling one of them so hard the blond swears Roger is 3 seconds away from dislocating it. His nose is pressed up against the wall so roughly Bill swears he hears a crack, pain shooting up his face. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You don’t ever learn do you? You tried this 2 years ago.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah well…” Bill’s panting at this point, the air being pushed out of his lungs by pressure alone. He takes a wheeze in before continuing, practically feeling Roger’s smirk radiating off of the boy. “2 years ago I didn’t have someone to fight for.” Bill lands a swift kick on the paler boy’s shin, causing the pressure on his arm to let up enough for him to stumble backwards. He knocks into something hard, the back of his skull rolling to hit the wall behind him. He lands on his hands and knees, blood dripping from somewhere on his body and onto the perfectly white tile. His vision has multiplied and he can’t even tell where the real Roger is. All he can do is hold his hands out in front of his face and hope for the worst to be over soon. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Roger! Leave him the fuck alone!” Bill sees Roger whip his head to the left and vaguely registers Peter’s voice coming from the same direction. Roger is soon replaced with Peter, who looks worried out of his mind and is frantically touching his lip, his fingers stained with red. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jesus Christ Bill. Why did you think that was a good idea?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He… Um… He insulted you… And I didn’t want that to happen. Y'know since we’re kind of maybe friends and all. So I punched his jaw and he retaliated, like expected. But I didn’t think he’d punch me back so hard.” Peter chuckles and Bill can finally taste blood in his mouth, that he now acknowledges is dripping from his nose. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wow. My hero.” Bill snorts, using the back of his hand to wipe the blood off, taken aback by the amount of red now smeared on his hand and the fact that he can still feel it dripping. Roger probably broke his nose and that’s simply a fact at this point. He can’t imagine how Peter is stomaching this entire situation, he’d be running the other way if he were the boy with glasses. However, Peter stays with him and applies pressure to his nose with the white shirt that Bill reluctantly removed. The poor boy’s hands are stained with the blond’s blood, his shirt having flecks of it stained permanently as well. A teacher eventually stops by and gasps loudly as she takes in the entire scene and rushes them to the nearest emergency room as quickly as possible, mumbling about how she needs a raise.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>/ / /</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The only upside of the entire situation is that Bill hasn’t broken his nose, but does get out of school. Unfortunately he's also friendless outside of Peter now, who visits him with the work that he misses in class. His mother comments about it once, saying something that slips his mind the moment he responds. It takes him about 2 days to fall into a routine, eventually having to go back to school on day 4. He gets a new shirt from the school, seeing as the blood stains were too heavy to actually disinfect from the shirt. He also hears a rumour from Peter that Roger gets suspended for a week and a half, for initiating a fight. Bill knows that he started the entire thing, but Peter shuts him up quickly by saying that the teachers believed the brunette over Roger so he testified for Bill. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Bill honey, Peter’s here to walk to school with you! It looks like he’s without that cute blond boy that came by the other day. Ralph wasn't it? Oh he was a doll. Perhaps just up your alley? Y’know. Cute little nose, charming personality, kind, and a</span>
  <em>
    <span> boy</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Gee thanks ma. But he’s not really my type. And just because I’m gay that doesn’t mean that I like every boy who I lay eyes on.” Bill walks out of the door backwards, grabbing his backpack off of the hook as his mother gives him an exasperated sigh, placing her hands on her hips.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Perhaps Peter then?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Bye ma!!” Bill turns his back to her so she doesn’t see the bright red blush that has undoubtedly broken out on his cheeks. </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>/ / /</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey Bill!!” It’s been 3 weeks since he got his nose smashed in. 3 weeks and he’s finally started talking to Maurice again, not to mention that Ralph and Simon have found a way to weave into his life and get comfortable. However, he still spends the most time with Peter, no longer needing tutoring but still talking to Peter about his classes. They’ve formed a firm friendship, Bill still not having the words to tell the brunette that he loves him more than a friend.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah what’s up Maur?” Maurice dropped Jack and Roger instantly once he heard the story from Bill and Ralph, claiming he never really liked them anyways. Of course he became a target for Roger for about a week, but after that he was pushed aside once more.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Peter wants to talk to you! He said the boys bathroom I think. I just fucking… Ran down here from up there. Jeez that’s a lot of fucking stairs I’m dying here Billy boy.” Bill laughs at the nickname, patting Maurice’s back and handing him the unopened water bottle in his hand. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Think you'll need it more than I do. See you later alligator.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“In a while, crocodile.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter is in fact waiting for him outside of the boy’s bathroom, the same pen in his hand that rested there when the two first met. It feels like forever ago now, Bill having gotten a boy suspended for Peter and the brunette making Bill one of the top students in all of his classes. He smiles at Bill, who raises his hand as a greeting and picks up the pace so that they’re now facing each other, close enough that a passerby won’t have to hear their conversation. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So that’s where you got punched for me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mmmm. That’s also where you found me bloody and on the floor and didn’t run away screaming like you saw a ghost. Thanks, by the way. I didn’t really think you would’ve stayed when it happened. It was probably really messy for you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t mind.” Peter presses his lips together before putting the end of the pen to his teeth and pulling it back to its previous position, eyes hidden behind the thick lenses of his glasses. “I should be thanking you anyways. They’ve kind of been tormenting me for years. Real pain in the arse if you ask me. Can't go anywhere without hearing the nickname “Piggy”. Even if I have grown into my body a little.” Bill smiles at what he assumes to be a joke, glancing back at the place where he defended Peter. It was now or never. He didn’t have any other option. Tell the boy now or don’t do it at all.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I think you look fine. You probably did then too. It’s all about perspective and they’re looking through a keyhole in a door.” Peter is smiling widely now, eyes crinkling by the sides as he raises an eyebrow at Bill, who finally is feeling the butterflies in his stomach and his head spin. “I mean Piggy is a stupid nickname anyways. Not very creative.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’d say it’s not creative, but accurate based on my appearance. Just gotta own it sometimes.” Bill looks back into Peter’s eyes, both boys now grinning stupidly. He doesn’t see why Peter would have any reason to be doing what he’s doing, or even still talking to Bill at this point.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re an idiot.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Should I maybe break my nose again so you’ll worry about me again and stop calling me an idiot every time I do something that could get me even the slightest bit injured?” Bill looks back at the spot on the floor, Peter shaking his head no as a response. Maybe he should ask Roger to break his nose again, just to see what happens. Because Bill has a feeling inside him it would end much better than last time. </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>/ / /</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>His path doesn’t cross with Roger at all until the end of the day, and he’s praying he doesn’t get punched. Earlier it seemed like a good way to get Peter to act like he cared about him again, but now the memory of the sheer force behind Roger’s fists is haunting him and he never wants to be on the receiving end again. Roger has probably one or two more suspensions up his sleeve and if he does make Bill bleed once more, the blind is convinced he wouldn’t actually tell anyone. The break from school was nice. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ay. Bill.” Jack. Jack was going to break his fucking nose this time. Make his mouth bleed. Something. Anything. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What’s up Merridew?” A fist collides with his mouth, and he almost expected it to. The boys are laughing and running off before Bill can really process that he just got punched in the mouth, that this is the second time one of his “friends” has tried to attack him, and that he is now bleeding for the second time in the month from a fist. He can absolutely taste blood and has no idea how bad the punch actually was, but evidence suggests a busted lip and maybe a cut on the inside from his teeth. All of those are still in his mouth though, which is always a good sign. He sinks down on the wall, barely noticing that it was the same wall Roger left him on all those weeks ago, nursing his bleeding lip.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Bill? Oh what the hell.” Peter rushes to his side like he did before, the same blood on his fingertips as he looks at the injury. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How do you keep managing to do this? Jeez you’re like a magnet for busting things open. May as well just put you in a full body cast then maybe you’ll stay safe.” Peter’s so close to him. He’s right there, trying to halt the bleeding of his lip. Bill can’t help the smile that breaks out on his face as Peter takes off his glasses to clean them on his shirt before shoving them back up his nose. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What?” Bill reaches out with bloody fingers, pushing a strand of Peter’s hair behind the boy’s ear, leaving a streak of red in his path. The brunette gives him a weird look, somewhere between curious and confused. Bill does the only thing he can think of doing. Everything has a thin coat of blood, the liquid having since dripped down his chin. But with the minor inconvenience of an injury, he grabs Peter’s tie and pulls the boy in so roughly that he falls forward and onto Bill’s mouth. The only momentum the blond even has is how tightly he’s grabbing Peter’s tie, trying to ignore how the kiss tastes of nothing but his own blood. He’s trying to focus on the movements of Peter’s mouth against his, engraving the moment that will never ever happen again in his memory. At least he doesn’t assume it’ll happen again. But what feels like minutes pass and Peter finally breaks away from him, blood now stained on his mouth and chin. He quickly wipes it off, eyes just as confused as they were before. And Bill is nothing but happy. Happy that he got to do it, happy that Peter obviously isn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>mad </span>
  </em>
  <span>with him. And he’s tired. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Bill what did you just-? Oh God you just… And I didn’t- And I liked it… Oh my God…” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Think you got the hots for me?” Bill leans his head back, hitting the wall a little rougher than intended, making Peter shoot him a glance that screams ‘be more careful.’ Peter definitely wasn’t mad. Okay well maybe he was now, but it wasn’t over Bill smashing their faces together unexpectedly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well obviously. I do know that I’m into you. I just didn’t think you’d do that. And it tasted like blood which was nasty. Don’t do that again.” Bill chuckles softly, legs now sprawled out and he closes his eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Bill?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wake me up later…” </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>/ / /</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill wakes up in a bed that isn’t his in a house that isn’t his. Ralph is standing over him, Peter in his peripheral. The fair boy smiles, leaning down to whisper in his ear, Bill groaning with the words. Ralph quickly makes his departure afterwards. He bids them both farewell and tells Bill to be more careful, no matter how many times the blond garbles that Jack started it. Peter shoots Bill and Ralph a similar glare, messing with something over on the dresser. Bill slings an arm over his eyes, alone in a room with Peter after he just got the shit beat out of him in one punch and kissed his best friend in the same 30 minutes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wanna talk about it?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, not really. But I will.” Peter approaches him, a slightly bloody towel in one hand. He sits in the chair Ralph previously inhabited, eyes trained on Bill. “Guess it was a good idea because I was already super woozy and didn’t really gauge the consequences of my actions. Wanted to do it before I chickened out and did nothing. Guess that didn’t get me really far. Or help my case at all. Really shouldn’t have done it but like I said. I was a little wonky.” For emphasis, Bill loops a finger around his head, making Peter snort. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So you’re an emotionally driven idiot?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ouch. That one hurt Pete.” Peter inhales sharply and Bill bolts up once it happens, making sure that everything was okay with the brunette. He assures Bill that he was just taken aback, waving him off before the blond can fuss any further. Against his better judgement, Bill throws his legs over the side of the bed and his feet onto Peter’s lap, leaning onto his palm. One of the boys from earlier must’ve taken off his tie because it’s gone missing from around his neck. A part of him hopes it was Peter, just because Ralph doing it doesn’t sit right in his gut. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You just gonna insult me while I stay as a </span>
  <em>
    <span>guest </span>
  </em>
  <span>in your house?” Bill throws his arms out, circling back and leaning forward enough that his hand can rest comfortably on Peter’s face. His face is unshockingly soft, matching his appearance perfectly. The roundness of his cheeks, how he just looked huggable. Something like that. Peter doesn’t make a move to get up, doesn’t make the usual move to push up his specs. Just lets Bill run his thumbs across the boy’s cheekbones. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Seems like I might.” Peter smiles cockily at Bill and the blond wants nothing more than to just keep talking to him like this. Banter back and forth between them for eternity, until they’re well into the middle of their lives. However, 18 years old would have to do for now. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You probably should. I’ve gotten used to the bite of your words. Plus you’re all talk. You couldn’t hurt a fly.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wow you know me <em>soooo</em> well.” Peter has to lean up as Bill leans down, their forehead pressing together as Peter gently maneuvers around Bill’s hands to press against the blond’s shoulders. It’s sickeningly sweet, probably to both of them. But it’s less rushed than earlier and it feels nice to finally get time to breathe in a moment before diving into the deep end. They sit like that for a couple minutes before Bill’s ADD kicks in again and he begins to fidget, distracted once more.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay yeah you’re taking too long.” And he finally shoves his lips on Peter’s, less blood this time. He has a feeling the wound will reopen with how roughly he smashed their faces together. Although there's no metallic buzz in his mouth, so he counts it as an absolute win. Even if he could taste blood, the way that Peter is responding would be worth it. Perhaps earlier he was unsure, the movements calculated and slow as if he couldn’t quite tell how Bill felt. Now he was just as chaotic, burning for more.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This time it’s Bill who pulls away, trying to ignore how out of breath they both were. He doesn’t talk, just pants as he scrambles to grab onto Peter’s face, the other boy struggling to pull on Bill’s hair. It happens a little too roughly and the blond makes a noise in the back of his throat that mimics something between a growl and a slur of ‘ouch that hurt’ too accurately and Peter stops dead in his tracks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jesus fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>christ</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Do that again.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. IV</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>It’s another Jalph chapter wowie<br/>Ralph has bad headaches and Jack helps</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Ralph hasn’t had a migraine as bad as the one panging through his head for months. In fact, it’s the only reason why he started taking longer shifts for his profession. The blond had lacked the head splitting pain for a decent amount of time and he had half of a rent bill to split with his roommate, so he simply tacked 3 hours onto his already long shift. 7 months, 1 week and 3 days if he’s being exact. He almost forgot that he had been diagnosed with the stupid things until one fateful rainy Thursday. Between the pressure change from a bright and sunny day to pouring and the dark area of his office, eyes focused on the bright computer screen and the screen only, he could tell he would have a small pinch in his head. Nothing he couldn’t manage though, he had been doing it for years. By lunch time, he was already sporting a small headache and decided on breaking out a Coke and advil. He couldn’t just leave early, he had 8 hours of work left in the day. So the best thing he could do was push his way through the pain. Grit his teeth and suck it up until he could get to the comfort of his own bed. Unless his roommate had his buddies over again, although it was a normal occurrence so it wouldn’t really be all that shocking. If that was the case then Ralph would be tossing and turning for at least 2 hours more. Between the loud bass boosted music they played and how much yelling and drinking they did, they’d trash the place and leave Ralph and his roommate to clean it up, the poor boy apologising to the blond for as long as it took for them to clear the last beer bottle. He would wave it off, like always, and give the other a final wave of the hand and perhaps a pat on the back before finally making his way to sleep. All he could do was pray that nobody besides the boy himself was in his home. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>By 20:46, Ralph could barely keep himself from vomiting all over the floor. Whenever he stood up too quickly the world spun at an alarmingly high speed. It didn’t take long for his coworkers to notice his change in behavior. How he had his hands clasped at the back of his skull, subconsciously rocking himself back and forth on the swivel chair the company provided for him. Word seems to travel fast up the chain when it’s almost 21:00 and sooner than Ralph could properly think, his shoulder was tapped. His boss was frowning down at him, the blond’s heart dropping at the disappointed feature decorating his superiors face. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mr. Allebach. Just go home. The 10 minutes lost won’t cause you any real harm paycheck wise and according to your medical history, you’re legally allowed to leave the premises if the situation calls for it. And judging by how you look seconds away from causing a slightly expensive carpet cleaning bill, I would say it does. Have a good night.” Ralph almost cries from how thankful he is, struggling to stay upright and remain professional as he gathers his things. One of the girls who works at the help desk offers to call him an uber, which he gratefully accepts, using the cool marble top to lay his cheek on. The chill makes him shiver but soon enough, his eyes flutter shut and the bag at his waist seems a little less heavy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He stumbles into the uber, head laying in his knees as the older woman drives silently. Once he enters the car, she seems to get the hint and turns off the radio letting the sounds of the city be the only thing that makes Ralph feel uncomfortably nauseous. Closer to the end of the drive, he swears he’s going to have to pay to have this poor lady’s car floor vacuumed. The blond is thankful that the woman is so understanding, as the last time he had a migraine this bad the driver didn’t seem to catch on and kept trying to talk to him. On top of it all, he had kept the music at top volume so everything had just pounded Ralph at one time.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Here you go sir. Have a lovely day. I’m sorry about how you’re obviously feeling. I hope the pain doesn’t last.” And Ralph tips her extra for her kind words, staggering into the small apartment like a drunkard. All of the lights are off except for the piercing light of a television screen. The nature channel is playing quietly but the light is enough for Ralph to have to rush the 4 feet into the kitchen and heave into the sink. White spots dance in his vision as he folds himself over the sink once more. His keys are still dangling on his fingers, the sharp portion digging into his palm and his bag is still strewn across his shoulder. Everything about him is a mess, his skin feels like he’s boiling and his hair is slightly sweat-damp at the ends. His heartbeat is pounding in his ears and his head is swimming. The sheer force of the pain is enough for him to collapse to his knees, legs suddenly like jelly. He expects the cold chill of the tile, perhaps even the rough feel of grout. What he doesn’t expect is the soft embrace of his roommates arms, feeling desperately at the blond’s burning forehead. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh God Ralph you could’ve had someone call me. I would’ve carried you inside.” The fair boy presses his head into the other’s tight grip, not even having the strength to really listen to Jack Merridew’s words. Instead he just breathes heavily into the boy’s chest, eyes fluttering shut as he involuntarily rocks back and forth again, like he just got off of a really nasty boat ride. Jack knows about his headaches. Of course he does, it was the first thing Ralph told him when they decided they were good enough friends to move in together. At first the boy had brushed it off as ‘just headaches’ but it didn’t take him long to figure out that it was so much more the first time he witnessed one. Now, the two had so many tactics to try and avoid the debilitating pain. Between carrying medicine, almost always having caffeinated sodas in the fridge, and Jack spending hours researching other methods to keep the migraines at bay, they had a decent system so the fair boy wouldn’t feel like dying. It was moments like these that both knew their system had failed due to unfortunate circumstances. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Stay over the sink. I’ll be right back.” Jack barely whispers the words, the noise making Ralph wince anyways. Knowing what he does about his roommate, Jack is probably going to get a cold water soaked cloth and turn the television off. Ralph just stumbles back up and over the cold metal of the sink in case something from his stomach makes an unexpected visit. He really hates how weak he is in these situations, but nothing can help that feeling. The pain is bordering blinding and he knows that even the strongest of people would double over with tears in the corners of their eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Once Jack returns, he helps Ralph make his way over to the couch, the only thing even resembling a bright light being covered by sheer curtains that block out the illuminated city. Ralph manages to take off his tie by himself with shaky hands before his body simply gives out and he collapses on the couch. The cold towel is placed over his eyes, gentle fingers moving it around every so often. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“D’you want any soft music or something? I could play some from my phone.” Ralph doesn’t have it in him to form a spoken response, and instead shakes his head weakly. “Maybe a blanket? Is there anything I can do?” Jack sounds like he’s on the verge of tears from pure worry, making Ralph feel guilt pang through him. He really doesn’t want the redhead to wonder if he’ll be okay once the morning rolls around, but it’s happening anyways. He forces his hand out, peeking an eye open just to know that he grabs Jack’s hand. The blond swears it’s out of instinct, but their fingers lace together and Ralph flutters his eyes shut once more. The pain isn’t getting any better but the fact that he knows Jack is there is soothing. The redhead himself just goes back to fiddling with the towel that’s resting on Ralph’s forehead. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The fair boy starts shivering around 30 minutes later, despite feeling like he was burning prior. Their hands are still connected when Ralph curls himself into a ball on the old couch, squeezing his eyes shut and praying it'll all be over. That the pain will subside by some force of magic. Jack removed the cold towel a while back, the fabric no longer being chilled, so at least he doesn’t have that to worsen how freezing he is.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You okay?” The redhead untangles their fingers for a split second and Ralph covers his face with his now free hands. As if it’ll help the pain in any way, shape, or form. Jack seems to catch on to the fact that Ralph’s body temperature has changed from hot to cold and the fair boy can hear him stand up, probably stretching. The blond doesn’t even want to know what’s happening because all he hears is faint shuffling and a couple of doors being opened and closed once more. A part of him thinks Jack just left, it probably is around 10 pm and the boy needs sleep. However, an article of clothing is slowly wrapped around him and it confirms the fact that the freckled boy wasn’t going anywhere. That he would stay with Ralph until the migraine was gone. His arms are weakly put through sleeves and he recognises it as a jacket being put on. It makes him significantly warmer, but somehow his body is still shivering violently. He can’t stop his hands from shaking and his eyes from being shut so tightly that his head only worsens. Ralph swears he’s on the verge of tears when he feels his body shift and something awfully warm is pressed against his back. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Relax.” Jack’s voice is in his ear and that’s the exact moment when the tears start. It’s not aggressive sobbing like he does when he’s sad. They’re silent tears that make his body quiver with each one. He can’t bring himself to make any noise, vocal chords completely giving out on him. Like when you haven’t been talking for a long time and it takes you a couple tries to get your voice working again. Everything is broken about him and won’t be repaired until he gets the sleep that won’t seem to come. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wants to see Jack. Or at least feel him and know that he’s there. Unfortunately the couch is small enough as it is, so rolling over wouldn’t be an option unless he wants to end up on the floor. Instead, he shifts to his back, eyes opening for the first time in about an hour. The room is almost pitch black, low light streaming through the window. The only things Ralph can see are Jack’s favourite jacket which is wrapped around his body, and the outline of the redhead’s face. His icy blue eyes are open but Ralph stops himself from staring because having to look anywhere but straight ahead is sending another wave of nauseating pain through his body. He gently moves himself onto his side once more, now facing Jack who is looking down at him with curious eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ralph it’s almost 10:30. Close your eyes. And you took the day off of work tomorrow. Or, I took it for you but your boss understood.” Ralph buries his face into Jack’s chest as he talks, a sharp inhale from the redhead signalling that he didn’t expect this sort of gesture. “You know… 5 years of knowing each other, 2 of which we’ve lived in the same house and you’d think this would’ve happened already.” Ralph wants to laugh at Jack’s words, but doesn’t have the energy to do so. He just curls himself up into the boy, eyes shut tight. Jack makes a small movement that mimics him moving away and Ralph gasps, the only noise he’s able to make. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sorry. I just wanted to grab something.” And a soft blanket is wrapped around the two by Jack. For the first time since he came home, Ralph finally feels as though that perhaps now there’s a chance his body will slip into sleep. And he's right, after 1 hour, his eyelids finally relax and dreams come to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>/ / /</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Ralph wakes wrapped tightly in Jack’s arms, the boy’s head 2 inches away from him. He still has the reminiscences of yesterday’s headache but it’s no longer so horrible he can’t cope. He’s honestly shocked Jack didn’t leave for work yet, seeing as Ralph knows it has to be past 10 am with how brightly the sun is shining. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I took the day off too, in case that’s what you’re wondering about.” Jack’s eyes open slowly, a smile playing on his lips. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You really didn’t have to. I can take care of myself the day after migraines, you know that just as well as I do.” Jack shifts himself so he’s resting on his arm, eyes locking with Ralph’s.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah but I didn’t want you to be alone. Plus I have things to do that don’t involve an office chair and an old wooden desk.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Like what?” Ralph swears he sees Jack’s eyes flicker from his eyes to his lips but brushes it off before any other thoughts can enter his brain. Jack moves his body closer by 1 inch, which shouldn’t be a lot but with how close they are Ralph is beginning to suspect that perhaps he </span>
  <em>
    <span>did </span>
  </em>
  <span>see the flicker of eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Like this.” Jack’s lips ghost against Ralph’s for half of a second but it’s enough to send sparks through the blond’s body. He didn’t even get the chance to reciprocate anything because Jack pulls away quicker than he can think. Ralph blinks another 5 times before finally coming to his senses and realising that his roommate not only kissed him, but he hadn’t been entirely disgusted by the idea of doing it back. So that’s what he does. He grabs the front of Jack’s old white t-shirt and gently pulls the boy in, letting their lips linger for longer than Jack had probably anticipated.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well I’m happy that I decided to stay home today.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. V</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Um have some gay designer Sam/model Maurice content because I listen to goodnight moon asmr and her valley girl videos fucking slap</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Of all the jobs in the world to take, a fashion designer is typically not one that a lot of people go after and actually achieve. To be fair, Sam’s parents had rolled their eyes and turned up their noses when he exclaimed that he got his first major gig. He wasn’t shocked per say, the only person who thought he wouldn’t be broke and on the streets was Eric, but he didn’t let their negativity break down his pure excitement for the shoot. A model around his age who apparently had skyrocketed in popularity due to the right mixture of people being on the media a lot more and having exactly the features society had deemed attractive. He hasn’t really seen the model, let alone told much about the individual because his agent had squealed to him about all of it being a surprise over the phone and that he would be pleasantly shocked upon seeing the fresh face in the industry. All he knows is that the model is now pretty famous, gathering ~700k followers on Instagram. No gender of the model, no appearance, all they said was he needed to take measurements and design a proper outfit, from scratch, for a photoshoot. </p><p> </p><p>That’s where he is now, speed walking after his agent down a sleek hallway, trying not to trip over the laces of his sneakers as his soft measuring tape hangs from his back jean pocket. For someone who is a fashion designer, his own style is oddly messy, most of his jeans having patches that were hand stitched into them and cuffs rolled at the ankles because he thrifted the actual pair. Half of his closet is thrifted, his shirts literally consisting of only vintage t-shirts that he desperately tucks into his pants to make a hurried look appear a little more in style. The rubber of his sneakers is covered in ink from when he forgets dates and just scribbles them on the edge. He has a bad habit of drawing on the cuffs of his jeans too, but he really doesn’t want to admit it so he just claims it adds to his personal style.</p><p> </p><p>“Fix that beanie of yours Sam.” The boy smiles weakly and adjusts his headwear as his agent’s heels click down the marble floor. “Anyways the model you’re working on is definitely your speed. More of the sloppy modern look as opposed to the crisp, refined, older look. The youth these days are really making a name for themselves clothing wise. I think it’s quite interesting to see trends go in and out.” Sam is practically jogging to keep up with her long strides and trying to listen to her words is even harder than it usually is. Sooner than he anticipated, they stop at a completely white door and his agent is adjusting her clipboard, sticking her pen in the base of her bun. Her eyes scream ‘don’t ruin it’ to Sam and he simply nods, hoping he didn’t misinterpret her expression. She turns the knob, letting Sam awkwardly move around her and into the place he would be spending the next 7-8 hours of his life.</p><p> </p><p>It’s a nice room, the light wooden floor complimenting the open windows very nicely. Everything is sun lit and very bright and open. Makeup artists are scrambling around a vanity, loose powders and foundations strewn across the desk portion along with eyeshadows and hairspray. Everyone seemed so prepared for a shoot that was literally weeks away. Ring lights were set up, people who were obviously professional photographers sipping coffee out of styrofoam mugs and chucking at each other’s comments. A boy seems to be the only outlier, talking to someone who looks equally as professional as Sam’s agent. However, the boy himself has a smile playing lazily in his lips as he regards the person in front of him with slight disinterest. He is oddly attractive for someone in a room full of rushed and clearly exhausted people, strands of brown hair falling almost too perfectly into his bright green eyes. Everything about him seems like it was blessed by a god, how the faint outline of his muscles came through the fabric of his shirt, his tan skin that accentuated his facial structure in the best ways, how his teeth were so straight and so white they looked fake, his hands were probably the thing Sam notices the most because of how soft they looked compared to the rough exterior he was playing at. The boy looked like he was the star of the room. And he probably was in hindsight. </p><p> </p><p>“That’s Maurice Bellomo. He’s Italian, but grew up over here. Speaks it fluently and seems to have caught the attention of the female population with the beautiful language. Not to mention he’s absolutely gorgeous. Has girls swooning left and right. Actually has some boys doing the same. He’ll be your model.” </p><p> </p><p>“Ah, Italian. Of course. Definitely looks the part. I could probably get him in some soft red colours to bring out the green in his eyes, complimentary colours and all. Maybe a watered down red turtleneck and some more crisp jeans with a belt definitely. Probably boots just to finish it up and then…” Sam takes notice of the boy’s pierced ears almost immediately, smiling to himself. “Do something jewelry wise to add little details to him. Rings, a necklace, whatever I’m in the mood for.” His agent hums to herself, scratching his words down onto a clean page on her clipboard. She rips it off of the wooden piece and hands it over to Sam, a playful look in her eyes. The blond grins and they switch off the sheet of paper, for once a less than professional gesture between the two. </p><p> </p><p>“Well he’s certainly ecstatic to meet you. I told him about an adorable blond from a small town in the South and I swear he melted on the spot at the thought of a Southern drawl. Probably thought you were a pretty lady so we did have to clarify that you’re obviously not that. Could’ve sworn his smile just got wider. Anyways, better put on that thick accent of yours, country boy. Remember how your mama raised you.” Sam chuckles and rolls his eyes back to the page he's clutching in his hand. His words definitely still held the accent he’d grown up with, but it was certainly not as strong as it used to be. From time to time he slipped into a heavy country accent and most people struggled to understand him, but it became rarer as he slowly moved himself into the city. He did kind of miss the sweet way he would pronounce things, but in times like this he’s happy that he moved into a more populated area. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>/ / /</p><p>
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</p><p>Sam doesn’t actually get to talk to the model until 2 hours into the shoot because the makeup team does tests on him before he gets to start taking measurements and scrawling down numbers. Once he finally does get to work his magic, he’s forced to pull the boy behind a heavy red curtain in a dressing room and has him remove his shirt. He’s just as muscular as one would suspect, but Sam works with people who constantly look like this so it’s really no huge feat to him. </p><p> </p><p>His sharpie is lodged between his teeth and he’s working on the bicep seam when Maurice finally decides it’s time to spark up a conversation. “So. You’ve been doing this for long?” The boy’s voice isn’t at all what Sam expected. Perhaps he thought he’d hear the average male voice of his customers - which is low and gravely and very clearly forced - but Maurice is obviously not conforming to that stereotype. His voice holds a slight teasing tone and is sweeter than Sam thought it would be. He can’t say he doesn’t like how Maurice talks, in fact he would recommend the boy record an audio book so he can have it on repeat.</p><p> </p><p>“Um yeah.” Sam mumbles around the marker in his mouth, moving from bicep to around his chest. “Lift.” He grunts and Maurice does as he’s told, his arms now somewhat comfortably above his head as he watches Sam like the boy is the most interesting thing in the world. Sam scrawls in a couple digits onto the chart, the decimal point making everything as exact as he can have it. The only things he has left is the crotch seam and the legs, neither of which ever take horribly long. They're just always the final numbers to have his loopy handwriting fill in. </p><p> </p><p>“I could probably guess your pant size but I s’pose it would be better to get the measurements just so I’m absolutely certain.” Maurice shrugs his shoulders, utterly nonchalant.</p><p> </p><p>“By all means do it. If you want to be exact it’s probably for the better.” Sam can feel the corners of his mouth turn up as he crouches down to finish up the real reason he’s here. He was honestly shocked at how good the pay was and this is oddly calming for usually extraordinarily hectic shoots. Perhaps it’s because Maurice isn’t stuck up like some of the models he’s had to deal with in prior months, whining about how the spotlight isn’t always on them and how their clothing is taking too long. Or how the budget isn’t high enough. He does get that one a lot. <em> ‘You didn’t get me designer heels!!! I hope you enjoy a lawsuit!!’ </em>Yeah. He’s pretty much heard it all. The general majority of people really weren’t kidding when they claimed someone was a diva. But for a boy who rose to a high amount of fame in such a short time, Maurice seems to have retained his basic human decency and ability to restrain from constantly embarrassing himself and acting like a prissy toddler. In fact, Maurice may actually be his most polite client and he can’t tell if that’s saying something about his industry or about the brunette.</p><p> </p><p>“Mmkay. All done.” Sam returns to his full height, messily finishing the boxes off and smiling at his client. “Your full outfit <em> should </em>be done in a week but it can take two if I work slow. But this one should be simple enough. Any requests or is this all you need from me?” </p><p> </p><p>“No that should be it! Thank you so much, you seem really nice which is a huge difference from my old designer. I swear she was the wicked witch of the west in hiding.” Sam chuckles and turns his back to Maurice, gathering his things and getting ready to go out and find the fabric to create the model’s outfit. But Maurice switches languages to his native tongue to add a final comment in. <em> “You’re really pretty you know. A shame you’ve probably got someone waiting for you at home.” </em> </p><p> </p><p>Sam stops in his tracks and slowly adjusts himself so he’s facing the boy, who is giving him a sly smile. That look quickly fades and is replaced with paralysing shock once Sam responds with the same language Maurice just spoke in. <em> “Nobody’s waiting for me. Perhaps my flirting is rusty, but is it you who would want to be doing so?” </em>Sam cocks a brow, swiftly leaving before another reaction can bubble out of Maurice’s mouth. His face is on fire and he has no idea where the burst of confidence came from, but he has no idea how he is going to face Maurice again. Perhaps he won’t even do it at all.</p><p>
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</p><p>Sam spends lots of sleepless nights in his apartment working on the final product for his client. It’s how his routine usually goes, drink a lot of coffee, stay up until the sun rises, sleep until noon, and go back to work. However, he finds himself thinking about Maurice more and more as time passes which isn’t something that usually happens with his clients. Normally they escape his memory unless he’s looking at their measurements and sewing their preferred pieces. But his mind is wandering when he is doing simple things, like making breakfast or going on his mid-day jog. He blames it on the fact that he’s never had a model that was as kind to him as Maurice, but he’s certainly had people who flirted with him and he’s never felt this way before about any of them. In fact, if he didn’t know better he would say he’s developed a childish celebrity crush. The kind that teenagers have that they look back and cringe upon, but he was in his twenties and now officially has heart eyes for the Italian boy. </p><p> </p><p>Eric visits Sam about halfway through the week, bringing Chinese food from an old store down the street with him. It has to be mostly because he knows Sam will eat the rice and partially because he likes it for himself and seeing his twin gives him an excuse to buy it. When he enters the small apartment, Sam is at his work desk, but he isn’t actually working on what he really should be. Instead he's sketching a drawing of Maurice in an outfit, and embarrassingly enough the boy has become a constant model in his sketchbook. Eric sets the food in the granite countertops and slowly creeps his way behind Sam. Even though the younger twin can hear him, he’s really too caught up in finishing Maurice’s hair to care. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh Sammy, who is that? He’s really fucking hot, so whoever he is put in a good word for me, wontcha?” Sam slams the sketchbook cover shut almost immediately, face undoubtedly flushed. “Or don’t. Seems like you want him for yourself. Don’t blame you. Where’d you find a photo of someone who looks like that? Is he made up or did you snoop on Pinterest until you got really lucky.” Eric opens the food and Sam forces himself out of his desk chair and into the wicker one that sits at his circular kitchen table. He’s searching for Maurice’s Instagram on his phone, and the brunette is one of the first people that shows up when he goes to his home page. It was a recent photoshoot and Sam couldn’t bring himself to like the images because they decided it would be a good idea to throw the model in a button up and cover him in water, going for a more seductive look probably to appeal to his female followers. The shirt sticks to Maurice’s skin like plaster, his fingers running through his soaked hair. Since his silly crush has developed, every time he sees the photos Sam’s face heats up and he scrolls away as quickly as possible so he can shove his feelings aside. But he stays on the set of photos to show his twin, who is probably going to make a less than wanted comment when he hears the whole story of the model.</p><p> </p><p>“He’s actually a client of mine at the moment. Here, I have his Instagram pulled up if you wanna see it.” Eric hustles over to his brother’s side, handing him an open container of chicken fried rice and a set of chopsticks. Sam takes them from his brother, thankful that he has something to do besides stare at how the fabric of Maurice’s shirt is plastered across his muscles. Eric however, narrows his eyes and smirks like he has no shame in checking the boy out. He probably doesn’t if Sam knows his brother at all.</p><p>
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</p><p>“Damn Sammy that’s a really attractive looking bloke. How’d you score a deal with that one? Seems like he’d be hard to book.” Eric slides in across from him, scrolling to the past of Maurice’s account, biting through an eggroll. </p><p> </p><p>“Well my agent got me with him and didn’t tell me about who it was until the day of. So I had no idea who I was dealing with until I saw him. And I think he flirted with me.” Eric chokes on his food, sputtering as he throws the phone down. Sam snatches it back, seeing that Eric made it farther down than Sam could go without getting too flustered. The photo could’ve been what made him choke because it’s another provocative one for Valentine’s day, but Sam highly doubts it with how comfortable Maurice is with his body online. Eric presses his palm flat on his chest as his eyes go wide to his brother. </p><p> </p><p>“He <em> WHAT </em>?!?!” </p><p> </p><p>“He flirted with me! I swear I didn’t shut him down but I don’t think he thought I spoke Italian and he said something like ‘You’re really pretty. A shame you’ve probably got someone waiting for you at home.’ and so I replied in Italian with something like ‘Nobody’s waiting for me. Perhaps my flirting is rusty, but is it you who would want to be doing so’ and then I booked it out of there! I couldn’t stay any longer than that! What the hell was I supposed to do?”</p><p> </p><p>“Um stay?!? Flirt back even further??? Tell him he’s a literal god upon this Earth and that you would love to just be in his presence?? The fuck did you think you were doing, if you stayed maybe you could’ve gotten some sort of phone number.” Sam scoffs, crossing his arms across his chest and scrolling down further into the model’s Instagram. Last June. </p><p> </p><p>“Fuck Eric, he’s gay.” Eric grabs the phone from Sam’s hand immediately, mouth gaping at the image of Maurice decked out in rainbow face paint, wearing a pride flag like it’s a cape. A slightly less attractive boy to Sam is next to him, mid-laughter and wearing the same face paint with a rainbow bandana. The caption states the boy’s name is Robert Evans, and two other people are mentioned for pride but aren’t in the image. Eric glances up at Sam, placing the device face down on the wooden table.</p><p> </p><p>“Eating now, discussing this situation later. All I’m saying is his friend is hotter than him with ease and I no longer want to steal Maurice from you.” </p><p> </p><p>“Wh-”</p><p> </p><p>“Eat!” Sam let’s soft laughter pass through his lips as he and Eric spend the rest of the day together, talking about other completely normal sibling things until the sun sinks well below the horizon. Once 7:00 at night hits, Eric packs up and heads home, bidding his brother farewell and good luck with the deadline for Maurice’s outfit. He showed Eric the concept sketches and the final ones and the blond agreed Sam had made the right choice, then rightfully teased him for drawing the model over and over again unlike the normal ones he did where the drawings were faceless. Sam gets back to work at 8 pm, the product far from complete and a sleepless night ahead of him for the third time this week. </p><p>
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</p><p>On the day he finishes, it’s a week and one day after the first time he met Maurice. 6 days before the actual deadline of the outfit. He knows he has to see Maurice again to fit it to him and make small adjustments, but he really isn’t sure that he can face the brunette without turning into a stuttering mess. Instead, he texts his agent that he completed everything he needs to do for the first fitting and almost instantly gets an address texted back. This is exactly what he wants to avoid and had honestly hoped by texting his agent, she’d come pick it up and tell him to wait but apparently life has other plans for him. Plans that involve directly seeing Maurice Bellomo far before he's really ready to. </p><p> </p><p>The fitting room is uncomfortably silent as he makes the proper adjustments to the fabrics, trying not to prick Maurice’s side with the sharp side of a pin. He’s working on the boy’s left side, pins in between his teeth and head level with the brunette’s navel when words are spoken. </p><p> </p><p>“Sam… Can we talk?”</p><p> </p><p>“Is that not what we are doing now that you opened your mouth?” He tilts his head up and raises an eyebrow at Maurice, who looks down at him with justified annoyance. </p><p> </p><p>“You know what I’m talking about. You follow me but don’t like any of my photos, you don’t act like I exist, in fact, all of your socials say you’re not currently working on a project right now!”</p><p> </p><p>“They always say that so I can get more work. And of course I don’t like your photos. I’m not going to go around having my name plastered on photos of you half naked that clearly have a target audience that I don’t fall in.” Maurice snorts and Sam marks the area he's pinned with chalk, drawing over the line to make it appear bolder. He swiftly removes the needles without stabbing the brunette, who is still looking down and watching him with great interest. Sam stands up and pats Maurice down for any pins he missed, finding two hidden away, and then has him remove the remaining clothing with his back turned to give Maurice privacy. </p><p> </p><p>“You know you don’t have to turn, although I really appreciate it. People constantly watch me change anyways. Life of a model I suppose. Wouldn’t really phase me if you faced me the entire time.” And Sam turns around, Maurice pulling on the leg of his jeans, giving the blond a confused glance as he very quickly finished putting the rest of his clothing on. Sam supposed a lot of quick changes happen behind the scenes because he’s never quite seen someone throw a shirt over their head and zip up their fly at the same time until now. </p><p> </p><p>“Well, I’ll finish up the adjustments and then I’ll get back to you. Anything else I can do for you or can I go?” Maurice sighs and slowly approaches Sam, looking down at the boy. The blond has no reason to go anywhere but here, rooted in place as Maurice’s green eyes study him. The brunette doesn’t even try to play off the fact that he’s no longer looking in Sam’s eyes and instead down at his lips. Despite the extraordinarily bold looks, Maurice’s hands are shaky and trembling. </p><p> </p><p>“I think you’re good. See you in 6 days.” It’s barely a whisper, but somehow seems very sorrow filled. Sam steps back, breaking the trance Maurice seems to be in and grabs his things, trying not to break under the gaze of the brunette. He knows in 6 days that’ll be it for him and Maurice. No more awkward interactions in the dressing room, no more gestures that could be taken as romantic, all of that would be gone and they would move on with their lives. Of course, that isn’t what Sam wants but it’s what he has to deal with. Maurice is just another one of his models and as much as he doesn’t want to admit it, he can never be with the brunette. Not in the way he wishes he could be. </p><p>
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</p><p>Eric stops by again 2 days before the adjustments are due with more food, but this time it’s from the hole in the wall pizza place on the corner of Sam’s street. Eric somehow has a talent in finding the best places to eat, and is also making enough money to go out to buy the food. Sam barely makes enough to stay in his small apartment, but that’s the consequence of freelancing. He never knows when he’ll barely scoot by for the month or when he’ll have thousands of dollars to put away. It all depends on how many jobs he can score within 3-4 weeks.</p><p> </p><p>Instead of drawing when his brother enters, this time he’s stitching fabric together and trying not to stab himself and draw blood onto the shirt because if that happens, he has to start over again. He might just scream if he has to make another new shirt. Eric watches him work, as he usually does when he first enters the apartment, clear blue eyes trained on the movement of his brother’s hands. </p><p> </p><p>“You know, you really should eat something. And while you’re at it, take a break. I have some serious money on you eating while you work so you can stay busy. You need to relax at some point during this.” Eric flops down on the couch to Sam’s right, the younger twin trying his hardest to ignore the truths his brother is telling him. He was definitely overworking himself but it was only for this project and he had no idea why. Everything just <em> had </em>to be perfect and he couldn’t tell if it was because of Maurice or if it was some weird desire that always laid deep in his gut. </p><p> </p><p>“I know. I’ve taken breaks for jogs at the middle of every day. But I suppose I can give you a couple hours of my time.” Eric grins wickedly and stretches himself out on the plush cushions of the decade old couch their parents had decided was unnecessary to keep. Eric’s lazy grin returns as he cranes his neck to watch Sam stand up and slowly plop down on the ottoman across from the blond. The more he stares at Eric, who’s speaking words that the boy can tell go in one ear and out the other, Sam is beginning to realise how different they truly are. Eric’s hair is messier, and slightly shorter than Sam’s due to a recent haircut that got horribly messed up. Unlike his brother, Eric has more beauty marks decorating his face and most of them are concentrated around his cheeks. Sam has soft freckles adorning his instead, usually hidden behind the redness of his cheeks. Eric is also considerably more put together and bold than Sam is, unafraid to speak his mind and really doesn’t care about how some of the consequences affect him. Sam wishes he was as confident as his brother, something that he would never really admit aloud because it would simply boost the other’s ego. But he knows that if Eric was in his current Maurice situation, the boy would take charge and probably already be dating Maurice, if not then they definitely would’ve kissed. </p><p> </p><p>Eric readjusts himself, pulling his loose hoodie off, balling it up, and throwing it somewhere behind him blindly. “So I dm-ed that one boy. Robert, I’m not sure if you really remember him seeing as you were focused on the other person in that photo. But I got a really quick message back and we’ve been hitting it off so I decided to bring up how I was your twin and he knows exactly who you are through Maurice but I kind of expected that since you’re working for him right now. Anyways, brought you up and he said that you’re all Maurice wants to talk about anymore. Robert said that he swears nothing else matters to Maurice anymore outside of the person stitching up his clothes. Makes sense to me because he wants everything about the shoot to be perfect but y'know. I tell you everything so figured this could be of importance. Which reminds me, I have a date with Robert later this week. Dunno if it’s really a <em> date </em>but we’re going out to get coffee together. That’s about all the new information I’ve got, what’s up with you?”</p><p> </p><p>“Um… Well I’ve been a little busy working and not flirting with some boy I met on Instagram.” Eric throws a pillow at Sam, who dodges it in a swift movement, laughter bubbling up in his chest. “And I’ve been working on a couple new ideas for outfits. Sketching things out, colouring them in messily. You know the process.” Eric raises his eyebrows, a smile decorating his lips. Sam knows the question he’s going to ask before it leaves his mouth, and almost stops his brother before it even happens.</p><p> </p><p>“Still drawing Maurice?”</p><p> </p><p>“Shove off.” Sam shoves the pillow that was previously thrown at his face into Eric’s, a laugh muffled by the fabric. He doesn’t really want to admit it to his brother because he most certainly will be relentlessly teased, but he’s been working on outfits that would look good on Maurice, instead of just a faceless pencil sketch. He’s even gone as far as colouring the drawings in which he usually doesn’t do, typically he just labels them with random colours and hopes everything works out. But recently he's found himself drawing the loose strands of messy brown hair that falls into brilliant green eyes and crisp outfits versus more casual wear that could be played off as even sleepwear. Every time he finishes, he lets his fingers trace over the coloured streaks, almost disappointed in himself because nothing can quite compare to the real thing. However, he’s filled 5 pages with angles of Maurice, the front and backs never looking exactly the same. Despite disliking most of them, he seals them just for safekeeping. Like if he never gets to see Maurice again, at least he’ll have this. </p><p> </p><p>Eric retreats to collect said sketchbook before Sam can get another word in, flipping through the pages with a careful look on his face. His twin is silently cursing himself, praying that Eric doesn’t laugh out loud at the recent drawings. Instead, he furrows his brow and looks up at Sam, fierce intensity in his glare. “Sam you should totally show him these, I mean they’re so freakishly accurate. It looks just like him and I would know because I spend a lot of time on his socials. You’ve really got a knack for drawing people.” Sam snorts and gently takes the sketchbook out of Eric’s hands, who in return pouts his bottom lip out and gives Sam the biggest eyes he can probably muster at the moment. The younger twin just sighs, placing the book back where it laid before Eric had taken it. Sometimes he wishes the boy wasn’t so snoopy, but it was simply part of what made Eric <em> Eric </em>, so he couldn’t really complain all that much. He’d been putting up with his twin for 24 years, he wasn’t about to stop over some foolish crush on a supermodel. </p><p> </p><p>“I couldn’t show him even if I really wanted to. I don’t have that kind of courage, plus he might <em> hire </em>me if he sees how many ideas I have and while that would be lovely because the pay is exceptional, I don’t want to have a childish crush on my boss. Probably wouldn’t go very well, but maybe that’s just me.” Sam sits back down on the sofa this time, Eric grabbing the remote off of the stained coffee table and flicking through channels. He glances back over at his brother before sighing, settling on a documentary about whale sharks and grabbing one of the blankets that lies on the back of the couch. He throws it over both of their legs before grabbing his phone, shooting Sam one final look as the blond focuses in on the television. </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, I’m fully convinced it’s just you.” </p><p>
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</p><p>The last day Sam gets to see Maurice professionally, he throws the outfit on the boy and very quickly ushers him out of the dressing area and into the makeup artist domain. It gives him time to relax and slump against the wall, pulling out his sketchbook to continue on a piece he started the night before. Maurice wouldn’t be back until he had to take the outfit off because photographers would be doing the majority of the posing and situating the fabrics to fit the scene perfectly. Not to mention being hidden by the curtain was the best way to achieve privacy in an otherwise open room. </p><p> </p><p>Sam loses track of time and before he knows it, Maurice is shoved back between the curtains and he has to slam his sketchbook shut so quickly that he wonders if the pencil smudged. Maurice looks as exhausted as Sam feels, probably because all of the makeup has been wiped off of his face, leaving it entirely bare which is honestly a new sight for Sam. He never sticks around long enough to see Maurice without at least concealer dabbed on his skin. </p><p> </p><p>“Hold still so I can remove the jewelry. Then you can get changed into something comfier if you want. Someone came by and dropped off a pair of jeans and a sweater.” Maurice doesn’t even question the sketchbook, instead closes his eyes and holds as still as humanly possible as Sam removes his earrings, the two rings he decided on giving the boy, and the belt that is twisted intricately around his waist. Sam then turns again to let Maurice change, crouching to collect his belongings before the brunette actually does open his mouth to ask what lies within the pages of his sketchbook. </p><p> </p><p><em> “You look nice today.” </em> It’s barely a whisper but it stops Sam in his tracks. He hasn’t really been thinking about the first time Maurice spoke Italian to him, the boy’s words bringing the memory back up. Sam really isn’t entirely sure the brunette knows that he heard him, but how still he’s being probably gives Maurice a good indicator. <em> “It just isn’t how you normally dress, that’s all.”  </em></p><p> </p><p>Maurice isn’t wrong at all, Sam did choose to wear an outfit that doesn’t include his usual patched jeans or some sort of retro t-shirt but he didn’t think it would catch the attention of anyone, let alone someone who is as swarmed as Maurice is right now. He doesn’t want to say he’s wearing why he is because he hasn’t done laundry due to the deadline, so instead he smiles as if it’s an excuse for the overall shorts and old sweater. </p><p> </p><p><em> “I like it.” </em>Maurice’s voice seems so far away as Sam finally looks him dead in the eyes. The model’s cheeks are tinged red and he’s gone back to shaking like he was when he first flirted with Sam in Italian. The blond nods and watches as his client’s face becomes impossibly redder. </p><p> </p><p>“Thank you but-” Maurice quickly shakes his head and points to his mouth, a signal that if Sam didn’t also speak Italian, he’s not sure he would’ve understood. Someone had to be listening on the other side which was pressuring enough as it was when he was speaking English. Having to translate was going to be a rough task. Sam drops his voice to speaking softly before he responds in Maurice’s native language. <em> “Thank you but is there any particular reason you’ve been complimenting me?” </em>the brunette shakes his head yes, holding up a finger signalling Sam to wait while he grabs his phone out of the pocket of his jeans.</p><p> </p><p><em> “I was hoping to get your phone number. Maybe get you to work for me if I’m lucky.” </em>Sam is slightly taken aback, even though he had suspected the request was coming. Nothing could hurt from giving the boy his phone number, and maybe he’d actually have a stable paying job. But he really can’t get over the fact that he would have a crush on his boss, and it’s not like he can tell Maurice that as an excuse. </p><p> </p><p><em> “Would that make you my boss?” </em> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “To an extent. I don’t think I’d treat you how I treat my other employees though.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p><em> “Oh is that a bad thing for them or for me?” </em>Maurice chuckles and Sam moves over to open the curtain, a stream of sunlight coming through the window. The boy in the pride photo, Robert if Sam’s memory hasn’t completely failed him, is leaning up against a vanity, arms crossed tightly over his chest. He looks slightly annoyed, almost as if he was listening and honestly it wouldn’t shock Sam. He eyes them both up and down before heavily sighing and grabbing a flannel jacket that sits on the vanity. He looks absolutely exhausted, as if Maurice’s tactic to get him to stop snooping physically wore him out. </p><p> </p><p>Sam has to admit, Robert is an attractive looking bloke and now that his face isn’t covered in paint and blurred by laughter, the blond can see all his features clearly. He has a similar facial structure to Maurice, skin slightly on the warmer side but still tan. His eyes are a beautiful chocolate brown that has yellow streaks, that match the colour of honey startlingly well. Robert’s dark brown hair falls effortlessly into his eyes, just like Maurice’s except his fingertips seem to itch to brush it out of his eyes every 5 seconds. He smiles at Sam, giving him a small wave of the hand as a greeting. The gesture is reciprocated and Maurice gently moves the blond out of the way to fall into step with Robert. There’s a final turn of Maurice’s head, looking back to Sam. He looks like something is on the tip of his tongue, just ready to roll off but instead he closes his mouth and simply smiles. Robert places his hand on the doorknob, ready to open the door when a feeling rises in Sam’s gut and up to his throat, practically choking him. </p><p> </p><p>“Wait!” Both of the boy’s stop in their tracks, Maurice’s eyes wide when he turns to look at Sam. “Maybe… Maybe I could do another job for you. If you really want me to. Not that I don’t think you wouldn’t want me to, just I don’t know how often you can wait 2-3 weeks for an outfit or if-”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll just tell you weeks prior,” Maurice is beaming like an idiot and Robert rolls his eyes, facing the door again, “I’ll have him text Eric details to tell you about where my house is and what time we can sit down and talk.” Sam nods, heart beating so fast he swears it’s going to beat out of his chest.</p><p>
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</p><p>When Sam does make his way to Maurice’s house, paparazzi are outside of his door, screaming questions in his face. It’s all extraordinarily overwhelming so he just pulls his beanie over his probably burning red cheeks as very personal inquiries are shoved at him. An elderly woman walks out to greet Sam, just as Maurice said in rushed texts. She shoos the photographers away with a sharp wave of her hand and wraps her free arm around the blond’s shoulders, grumbling Italian swears under her breath. </p><p> </p><p>“That boy didn’t tell you about the swarm that’s been surrounding this house like fruit flies to an orange left on the counter. Remind me to give him a stern warning about inviting guests over.” Sam tucks his head down as she opens the beautifully carved front door, still trying to hide his face from the people who have obviously already seen it. This woman has to be Maurice’s mother, and if she isn’t then Sam is going to feel like a fool for believing she is. However, she certainly looks the part. The same brown hair, same bright and lively green eyes that sparkle in the lights, the only real difference is that she has a heavy Italian accent when she speaks English, which is lacking from Maurice’s voice. </p><p> </p><p>“Well my son is waiting upstairs for you. I’ll be making you some food to eat… you’re so skinny.” </p><p> </p><p>“Thank you ma’am, but I ought to be getting back to my apartment before sundown so I’m not sure I’ll be able to stay that long.” Before the woman can interject, Sam politely leaves the room to climb up an uncountable number of steps to go find the one person he needs to, in a mansion. Which seems like it should be an easier task than it probably will be. It’s like finding a needle in a haystack, seeing as the house is swarming with people who are cleaning floors and windows. Sam smiles at one of them who just so happens to be looking his way, and the girl beams back before returning to her original task, what the boy swears to be a dust of pink across her cheeks. So he quietly approaches her, trying not to disrupt her work too much. But if he doesn’t get directions he’s going to find Maurice by the time he needs to be getting home. </p><p> </p><p>“Hullo… I’m um. Looking for Maurice? Do you know where he could be?” The girl looks up, black bangs falling into her eyes as her lips part slightly, a pouty look on her face. Her crystal blue eyes flicker up the stairs as she smiles gently in the blond’s direction. </p><p> </p><p>“You must be the boy Mr. Bellomo was talking about! He did say cute button nose, small country drawl.” Sam feels his face set aflame at the description that was given. “He said send you upstairs in case you asked. Should be the only door that doesn’t look like it belongs in a magazine. Good luck sir, you’re really going to need it. He doesn’t keep fashion designers for longer than a week. If you can make it through that first one, then you can do anything.” Sam tries not to wince at the girl’s words, hoping that he is blessed with the ability to be employed for at least 7 days. </p><p>
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</p><p>Maurice’s door is exactly as described, looking like a beacon in a dark room. It’s the only door in the house that has a coloured layer over the oak wood, the shade of yellow paint chosen slightly peeling off the edges and revealing the natural wood. There’s no name on it or really any other indicator that it belongs to the model, but Sam chooses to go with what he was told and lays 2 soft knocks onto the door. It’s opened almost immediately and the boy is crushed in a hug from none other than Maurice himself. In his peripheral vision, Sam notices that Robert is also in the room, scrolling through his phone with a bored expression on his features. However, more importantly to him, Maurice is so close that he can smell the cologne he wears, that he can probably tell what shampoo he uses. Everything is so musky and comforting that if it were up to him, Sam would just fall asleep in the brunette's arms, mumbling to wake him up in a couple hours. Maurice pulls away, a huge grin on his face and Sam realises that he is dressed extraordinarily down compared to the blond. Maurice has a lavender hoodie on with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, soft salmon bracelets decorating his wrists. Which compared to Sam’s striped shirt and yellow jeans seems a little informal. Although, he doesn’t really mind. Being a fashion designer just makes him notice these types of things. Sometimes he wishes he didn’t because his gaze lingers a little too long and Maurice’s grin only widens. </p><p> </p><p>“Sam! I assume you asked for help. Or maybe made a really good educated guess. Either way, you’re here and that’s what's important. So the next shoot is in about a month but I already have someone doing my outfit for it so you’re free to find another job until then. I just have a couple more things planned in the future that I wanted to discuss because themes have been decided and they might… take a while. So that’s why you’re here! And Robert,” Maurice gestures to the boy who’s sitting on the floor, head against the arm of a chair, earning a wave but not a glance away from his phone screen, “is here to help. He’s better at remembering dates than I am and keeps me on track when I lose my train of thought.” </p><p> </p><p>“Oh! Okay, well thank you for informing me. And yes, I did have to ask around. A girl in the front hall told me to look for the door that didn’t quite belong and from there I could figure it out myself.” Maurice flops down on the only chair in the room, the one Robert has propped himself up against. It’s clearly an antique armchair that has a pattern that looks like it’s from the 1920s. It’s gorgeously detailed and the blond can’t help but imagine it as a shirt. With the pattern already right against Maurice’s skin, it just makes logical sense to mentally picture it as a short sleeved button up. In an attempt to get out of his own mind, Sam settles on standing awkwardly near the door and clasps his hands in front of him. Maurice grins lazily at him before turning his attention to his closer friend, sighing once he sees the reflection of Robert’s phone screen. Knowing the boy, he’s probably stalking Sam’s brother’s account, but he doesn’t really want to think about it all that much. </p><p> </p><p>“You can sit down, you know. I don’t want you standing the entire time seeing as my mother will probably keep you around long enough for dinner with her constant pleading. You might get tired and-”</p><p> </p><p>“Jeez Maur, you’re sitting in the only chair you fuckin’ idiot.” Robert has a teasing tone to his voice and he finally clicks the power button on his phone, craning his head to look up at the brunette, whose mouth has fallen open to form an ‘o’. Sam can't help but feel like he’s interrupting a conversation by simply standing there. Like he’s eavesdropping on people that he passed quickly in the busy halls of a school. Of course he was going to feel like this, Robert and Maurice had been friends for at least 4 years according to how far back some of their photos dated. 4 years of experience with each other that Sam was lacking. </p><p> </p><p>“Well he could’ve <em> asked </em>me to get up.” </p><p> </p><p>“Or he could <em> sit </em> on your <em> lap </em> if you’re really that picky.” It’s an innocent jeer back at Maurice with no incredibly ill intent. However, Maurice sputters out a very quick ‘what’ and Sam feels blush creep onto his face, crawling down his neck. It makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end and Robert glances between the two of them, a mischievous twist to his features when he takes a good look at how the blond reacted. “I mean there’s no other chair and you really don’t care either way, since it’s not like you guys <em> like </em>each other. I just think it’s the most logical solution so nobody’s standing for so long. Unless perhaps there’s another reason that you wouldn’t want to.” </p><p> </p><p>Which is how Sam finds his back pressed up against Maurice’s chest as they review dates that he’ll be working for the brunette. His breathing hasn’t been right since Robert’s suggestion hung heavy in the air and he can barely think with how close Maurice is. Sam can feel his breath on his neck, sending shivers down his spine and all he wants to do is make up an excuse to stand in his prior position. But nothing is horribly off about how he is right now, not off enough for him to get up and be able to blame it on anything but a crush. A stupid crush that he wants to ground into the cool Earth underneath the sole of his shoes. </p><p> </p><p>“So. This month is obviously a free one for you and up until next month, you can freelance for other people. I might text you a couple times with outfit choices because I can never decide. And with summer coming up, my closet is gonna expand like nobody’s business.” Sam hums in response, flicking through the pages of the calendar he’s been given, trying to ignore how Maurice’s arms are wrapped around him in an attempt to review the dates without it being awkward.  </p><p> </p><p>“This feels counterproductive Robert.” The brunette across the room smiles and Sam takes the opportunity to stand, stretching out as a chuckle emerges from Robert. </p><p> </p><p>“It was very counterproductive. But I should be going before it gets to be sunset. I have drawings to do and people to find jobs from. I’ll catch you two around I suppose.” Maurice nods vigorously, a huge smile on his face as he waves the blond goodbye. Just as he opens the door to leave, Robert opens his mouth to speak. It’s probably a conversation he shouldn’t have heard and Sam isn’t sure the other two know he caught it.</p><p> </p><p>“You really like him, huh?”</p><p> </p><p>“More than you can imagine…”</p><p>
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</p><p>Sam spends most of his days curled up in his apartment, sketching out outfits for blank faces once more. Since he heard what Maurice had said he hasn’t been able to think about the boy without his face heating up and his heart going 500 miles per hour. He busies himself with listening to music through his phone and watching his hands colour in designs with vibrant tones. The sun comes out to light up the world, raising the temperature to borderline uncomfortable heat. There are some days where it’s just nice enough out for Sam to take walks down the neighborhood surrounding his apartment, but he’s taken to wearing a ball cap because of the attention he’s getting for being seen at a model’s house. Although it doesn’t do much, it’s enough for his face to not be recognised by everyone he passes. </p><p> </p><p>Today is one of those days where the heat is just nice enough for him to throw on shorts, an old t-shirt undeniably from the 80s since it belonged to his father, sneakers, the hat that he’s been wearing out since he got home, and take a walk down the peaceful streets. He shoves his earbuds in his ears, playing with the wire as he passes through the crab apple apple trees that are blooming with colour. Sam mentally takes note of the different shades and stores it away for later to make a sketch of. He very rarely does nature portraits but the trees are so beautiful it’s difficult to not want to draw them. </p><p> </p><p>“Hey there stranger!” He turns, wide eyed and expecting to see Maurice with tons of paparazzi chasing after him. Instead he gets Robert, who has the hood of a flannel pulled over his head. Sam tugs one of his headphones out, letting it dangle as Robert falls into step with him. “So you seem to be doing the tactic that I use but with considerably more style.” Sam snorts, turning down the volume of his music so he can actually hear the brunette. </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, there are still people who approach me in the street with pretty personal questions, but I think the hat is doing me wonders because nobody can really see my face unless they’re on my side of the street.” Robert smiles down at Sam, a mischievous look on his face. </p><p> </p><p>“Well y'know the two of us being together may be a bit of an issue for our covers.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not the idiot who chose to wear a flannel during a summer month, acting as if it wouldn’t get picked up on.” Robert feigns offense, changing his walking direction to backwards so he can look into Sam’s eyes as the boy talks. He never thought playful conversation would come so easy with someone like Robert, but they spend the remainder of the walk teasing each other in the comfortable way Sam might do with a close friend. He continues with the blond until they reach the apartment, and just then Roberts looks down and sighs. </p><p> </p><p>“Nice to know where you live. Eric told me to stop by and make sure you were doing alright seeing as he’s busy with his own work.”</p><p> </p><p>“Are you two dating yet?” Sam slides the keycard hanging around his belt loop into the slot, the door buzzing with confirmation and the lock clicking open. </p><p> </p><p>“I mean I guess,” Robert enters the building after Sam, shutting the heavy glass door behind him before finally taking his hood off, “We’ve been on a couple dates together and he refers to me as his boyfriend. But y'know. I never really asked him to be my boyfriend and he never really asked me so I have no idea where that leaves us.” The brunette follows Sam into the elevator and the boy is suddenly grateful he’s not alone in the building, because Robert is much more interesting than he had initially thought.</p><p> </p><p>“My brother and I both jump to conclusions on the daily, but he’s more likely than I am to do so. You two play the part of dating so I would treat it as such.” He ushers the boy into his apartment, face burning under the stare of the old woman sitting in the hall knitting. He gives her a small wave which makes her look up above the frames of her glasses with a slow smile on her lips. She gestures with a knitting needle back and Sam follows his guest into the living area, trying not to wonder about what could’ve possibly been going on in that woman’s mind. </p><p> </p><p>“Sam I have a kinda important question for you. First off, your art is beautiful. Second off, why is there a drawing of Maurice?” Sam just now realises he left his sketchbook open and he makes a move to go grab it from Robert’s hands, but the boy flips back much to Sam’s horror. “Oh my God Sam. I would assume you were planning outfits for him because you’re working for him but these date back farther than when he asked. Like. Weeks farther.”</p><p> </p><p>“I know,” Sam blurts it out, face probably bright red under the other’s scrutiny. He can’t stop the heavy beating of his heart in his ears no matter how many deep breaths he takes, “I know… He was the model and I guess some weird part of me was so interested in him that every time I <em> tried </em> drawing something else it all circled back to him.” </p><p> </p><p>“Seems to me like you need to figure out how you feel and then maybe, just maybe, talk to him about it. Because Sam this is huge. And I do mean gigantic.”</p><p>
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</p><p>Sam regularly talks to Maurice and Robert for the next month through a groupchat and it gets to the point where he actually considers them to be close friends. Which is something he never would’ve thought possible when he first saw Maurice. He never had it cross his mind that he would perhaps be friends with an extremely famous model. Maurice hit 1 million followers around a week before Sam sees him in person again, and they spend a 5 hour call with Robert to celebrate. The blond has defaulted to liking Maurice’s photos on social media, even the ones that once made his heart pound. He doesn’t look at them, just likes them and moves on. Unless it’s a photoshoot appealed to less of his audience that's enamoured with him. If it’s photos that seem like they’re taken on a whim, then he flips through them with a small smile on his face. The ones where the corners of Maurice’s eyes crinkle with laughter, a smile lighting up his face, as the sun shines brightly behind him are the ones that Sam lingers on for too long. He then flicks away quickly, face just as hot as it was the first time he saw Maurice shirtless. Only for a different reason this time. Not embarrassment like the first time, but instead because he knows that he likes this boy and doesn’t want to admit it. It’s really the denial that makes him flush. </p><p> </p><p>The day he sees Maurice to help him plan out outfits for a shoot, he’s shaking like crazy. It didn’t hit him until now, but what if Robert told the boy about the drawings? They were close enough friends that it would be logical. However, once he enters the studio, Maurice isn't acting any different and still has the ecstatic grin on his face when the blond passes through the doors. </p><p> </p><p>“Sam! Okay so today should be easier because we don’t really need any measurements taken. But here’s the theme,” Maurice sets a cardstock folder onto a folding table with a pen, “and I’ll let you design outfits in that sketchbook of yours.” Sam ducks his head down so the other boy can’t see the sudden flush of his cheeks. There was a high chance Sam had already drawn something that would fit the theme, but he doesn’t know how to tell the model that. After all, how does one tell the person that they’re possibly in love with ‘Hey I stare at your social media enough to know the exact details of your face and configure outfits that would look good on you!’ </p><p> </p><p>He unshockingly opens the theme and his mind immediately travels to something he designed the day after he met Maurice. The background was to be dark, with lighting that would bring out distinct folds in clothing and cover parts of the model’s face in shadows. He knows exactly what poses they would put Maurice in due to the information written on paper and the boy himself is staring at the blond with wide eyes. That is, until someone gives him a shrill cry of his name and he’s up in a flash, reciting an apology Maurice probably knows by heart. Sam is left alone, flipping through the pages of his sketchbook frantically trying to find the older design. When he does finally stumble across it, his fingertips instinctively trace over the lines. It’s right next to a bright yellow outfit which is almost comedic because of the sheer contrast. </p><p> </p><p>He folds the past page back, so he’s just looking at the one sheet of paper he needs to be. Maurice comes back, looking over his shoulder before Sam can shoo him away.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh wow… That’s really good Sam. Where’d you learn to draw like that?” Maurice’s eyes flicker over to the date written at the bottom and he looks a little taken aback, “Wait, you did that before you worked for me. Or really even knew me that well. How did you-?” Much against the feeling in his gut, Sam looks up at the brunette whose eyebrows are knit together until his jaw goes slack.</p><p> </p><p>“You were drawing me before I paid you to do it. Not only that, you drew me almost perfectly. Sam, what’s happening here?” The breath catches in the blond’s throat and he can barely stop himself from jumping up and rushing out as the model leans down, eyes trained on the art in front of him. If he leaves, he’s only proving Maurice’s ever growing suspicion. </p><p> </p><p>“I- Uh I was designing outfits before I came up with a final idea.” Maurice raises an eyebrow before tilting his head slightly, a smile playing on his lips. He glances around, Sam following his gaze and there's a frustrated looking makeup artist glaring at the two boys with her arms folded across her chest and her lip sticking out in a pout. The brunette on Sam’s side groans quietly enough for just the other boy to hear, mumbling about how much he hates the poor woman staring them down. </p><p> </p><p>“God she thinks I’m so into her. Really gets under my skin because I’m trying my hardest to be polite and she’s dead set on basic human decency being a sign of attraction.” Sam laughs to himself, shutting the cover of his sketchbook before looking back up at Maurice, who looks vaguely uncomfortable with the fact that he has to go face the makeup artist. </p><p> </p><p>“Plus I think I’d rather work with you. You’re so much easier to talk to with ease. But...” Maurice stretches out to his full height, sentence trailing off for a second before he snaps back to reality with a wicked grin across his face, “I don’t like anyone in the way I like you.” </p><p> </p><p>Sam’s face flushes heavily and he can barely hear anything outside of the beating of his own heart. He leaves as soon as he can.</p><p>
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</p><p>Maurice somehow pries Sam’s apartment number out of him and gets the boy to meet him outside of the building two days after the incident. Eric and Robert stop by as well, and in hindsight it’s probably because Maurice didn’t want Sam to third wheel the entire time. However, it’s pouring out, the sunny weather having disappeared like a whisper in a crowded room. Sam forgets his umbrella up in his actual apartment and has to jog through the horrible rain to meet an equally soaked Maurice, who’s using his jacket as protection from the storm. </p><p> </p><p>Once they meet right outside, the model ushers Sam over and the blond, whose face is undoubtedly bright red as it usually is, moves closer to Maurice, under the protection of his coat. </p><p> </p><p>“Okay why are you out here with no umbrella?” Sam shivers, trying to move away from Maurice but he doesn’t want to go back to being covered in rain. The brunette just walks over to the door, squinting as the spray of water most likely falls into his eyes. Water droplets cling to his lashes and Sam’s mind immediately comes up with a new drawing that he has to shove down his throat. </p><p> </p><p>“Ayo! Hurry up!” Eric’s voice comes from the safety of Sam’s balcony, a laugh from Robert soon following. Maurice chuckles before flipping them off as best he can as Eric leans over the edge of the railing, rocking forwards onto the balls of his feet. Robert has an arm wrapped tightly around the other twin, a lopsided grin on his face as he winks down at Sam who simply looks away. </p><p> </p><p>“If I take the rest of the day, I take the rest of the day! Fuck off!” Sam glances from his brother’s face to Robert’s, both of them having mischievous glances. Against his will he shivers violently again, as if to remind Maurice that the boy is slightly soaked. As a reaction, the brunette awkwardly maneuvers Sam closer to his body. </p><p> </p><p>“Body heat.” He mumbles, however Sam notices the blush creeping up his face as he leans into the model. Maurice looks seconds away from making an interjection, but the blond looks at him and gestures with his head to the doors, praying that they can get inside before Eric marches himself down there to drag them in. </p><p> </p><p>Instead of actually listening to the blond, Maurice leans down and gently brushes his lips against Sam’s. The boy’s body stiffens in shock, the jacket covering them being the only thing shielding the movement from the rest of the world. However, Eric and Robert obviously saw it because a wolf whistle registers from up above them. Maurice pulls back slowly, expression sheepish and face aflame. Sam doubts he looks any different, except his face is probably covered with shock. </p><p> </p><p>“Wh- Wait. What?” He can barely process what just happened, only the beating of the rain against the fabric. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry…” Maurice pulls back swiftly, looking back up at the sky, rain pouring down his face. It streaks his cheek like tears and with how clouded his eyes are, some of them might actually be just that. Sam sighs gently, pushing himself up onto his toes so that once Maurice glances back down to see what Sam is doing their lips just barely meet. Maurice freezes in place, both of them too scared to move before one of the boys above them screams ‘oh come on!’ and Sam almost pulls away, having forgotten about his brother. But Maurice places a hand on the back of his skull, pushing their mouths together. The jacket disappears from around them and crumples on the ground as Maurice uses his now free hand to cup the blond’s cheek, smiling into the kiss. Sam’s arms wrap around Maurice’s neck, and once they finally break apart, both of them burst into laughter. Maurice is the first to stop laughing, smile wide as he gently takes Sam’s face in his palms, the blond smiling up at him as best he can. Maurice leans down to whisper in his ear in the language that first started this whole ordeal.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “I think this means you’ve got yourself a promotion.”  </em>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. VI</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>ha. gay </p><p> </p><p>oh also it’s robric</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
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  <span>Robert has never liked anyone as much as he likes Eric Pinch. Which seems extraordinarily stupid to him, seeing as they’ve been best friends since they were 4 years old. It’s not like he hasn’t had silly crushes before, the ones that you get when you see a person and your heart beats so heavy that you can feel it in your throat. Where you go home to your mother all mushy and lean against the door, convinced you’re in love with this person. He would be lying if he said he hasn’t been enamoured by anyone that he catches glimpses of in the halls or little parts of their hair on the streets, because he absolutely has. It’s just that Eric is so different from all of the other people he’s thought he loved. Perhaps it was the way the boy acted as if there wasn’t anything in the world that could hurt him, as if nothing could even come close to bothering him. All of the hateful words jeered in his direction simply rolled off of his back. Maybe it was the way he would lean into Robert when he laughed, head thrown back as if whatever was said was the funniest thing in the world to him. The way that his laugh made Robert’s heart pound in his ears, the only thing mattering being the weight of his body on the brunette. In all honesty, it was probably the way that Eric treated him like nobody else had. For his entire life he’d been treated as a second option, as someone who could be thrown away and never replaced. But Eric made him feel… loved. And he would be damned if he didn’t tell Eric that he felt this way about him. </span>
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  <span>Robert decides he’s going to tell the blond everything on a sunny Thursday evening. He spends the next couple of weeks pacing back and forth around his small kitchen, weighing the pros and cons of actually letting these feelings slip off of his tongue. Of watching his childhood best friend’s face full with shock as he finally understands how Robert really sees him, of how Robert wants to treat him. It’s highly probable that he’s biased in his own favour, making tons of outcomes where he isn’t thrown to the curb or shoved into a major fight. But Eric has given him enough signs. Enough to at least try. If he gets rejected at least he’ll have all the memories to hold onto. </span>
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  <span>He's in the older twin’s house when the courage finally rises in him. It’s so high in his throat that he’s practically choking from the need to say how he feels. He's seated on the floor, leaning against the dresser with a notebook and pen strewn across the carpeted floor. They were writing something for a story they created when they were little, Robert planning the plot and Eric doing the actual writing. It was the one thing that made both of them light up with joy and spend hours locked away together. Eric is sprawled out on his bed, scrolling through something on his phone with the same lazy smile that he always puts on around Robert. The same lazy smile that makes his heart beat 100 miles per hour. Robert can’t help but wonder, between mindless comments, how this boy is so perfect. How this boy managed to make everything around him seem pointless to give a second look to.</span>
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  <span>“Eric, can we talk? Like about something really important that has nothing to do with the story.” Eric shuts off his phone immediately, rolling over to his stomach and propping himself up on his elbows. Robert has his undivided attention, eyes wide with anticipation. He's clearly interested, egging Robert on with only his facial expression. It takes the boy a couple of tries to actually get the words out, shaky fingers running through his hair as a way to distract him. “I just… I think I’m in love with you.”</span>
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  <span>“No… No you’re not. You can’t be. We’re just </span>
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  <span>Robert.” And all the stars he’d seen shine in Eric’s eyes, all the bright lights that reflected with what could’ve been love, was carried away like a leaf in the wind. All of the soft whispers Eric gave him when it was late at night and only they were awake, all the gentle hugs and times the twin would caress his cheek like maybe Robert meant something, </span>
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    <span>anything</span>
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  <span>, to him finally register as lies. Made up things the brunette believed because a part of him so badly wanted Eric to love him the way he loves Eric. His heart simply shatters in his chest, in a way that almost hurts him physically. That almost makes him double over and scream from agony. And all he can do is pray that he doesn’t break down in tears. At least not until he gets home and into the safety of his own bed.</span>
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  <span>“Right… Sorry…” Robert’s voice sounds so foreign to him, cracked and filled to the brim with pain. Like every word made his heart break just a little bit more. Eric is now sitting up, face crinkled with what the brunette can only assume is anger. In all the years he’s known the boy, only annoyance or rage makes him press his lips together in a tight line and narrow his eyes. Robert is so used to seeing that look directed at other people, that he almost shrinks under Eric’s glare from fear. He can’t tell if the boy is 3 seconds away from throwing a punch his way or 3 seconds away from crawling across the floor, pulling Robert into his arms, and gently telling him that everything will be alright. </span>
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  <span>“Robert did you seriously think that we were more than that? Because I’ve shown you no signs so you just jumped to a really extreme conclusion.” The tears that are threatening Robert’s eyes bubble up in his chest and he can’t help it. He can’t stop himself. It just happens. A strangled sob passes through his lips. Sooner than Robert can really process, one tear turns into a million and he’s crying on the carpet floor of Eric’s bedroom, mind too numb and heart too heavy to truly care about the other boy watching him. His hands are shaking and the world spins too quickly when he finally does look up, eyes clouded with tears that haven’t spilt down his cheeks quite yet. Between the blurred lines of his vision, Eric looks numb and almost on the verge of tears himself.</span>
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  <span>“Please leave… Robert just, please get out.” Eric sounds so far off and the brunette breaks down into sobs once more, burying his face into his hands as if it will stop the situation and send him back to bed to restart the day. He can’t do anything about it now, what’s been said has been said and nothing can take it back. No matter how hard Robert wishes that he could. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Robert… please.” Eric has to be crying. Robert can hear the crack in his voice and the slight waver at the end of his sentence that only comes when he’s on the verge of tears or has already started letting them fall. And when he finally does look up into the eyes of the blonde, it confirms that he is indeed, crying. Eric’s eyes go glassy and he starts to sway side to side, something that Robert has come to know happens when he’s either livid or terribly upset. Or both. And Robert doesn’t want to stay around long enough to figure out which one it is. In fact, he doesn’t want to stay in the house any longer because if he does, he’s sure he will scream. All he can do is walk out of the room as quickly as possible, torn into little pieces.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>/ / /</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Eric hates himself to an amount that most people would consider unhealthy. Not because he thinks he’s a bad person. Well, maybe he does. He’s certainly not a </span>
  <em>
    <span>good </span>
  </em>
  <span>person that’s a fact as clear as day.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Once Robert leaves him alone in the bone chilling room, his legs just give out on him and he collapses to the ground, body vibrating with the mixture of rage and sorrow. Of all the things in the world to want after he just rejected the boy, he wants Robert to be with him. To pull him into his arms and rub his back as Eric sobbed into his chest, whispering about how it’s alright to cry and how he’s perfect just the way he is. But Robert’s not here and Eric feels painfully hollow.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Want to tell me why Robert walked out of here crying? Did you- Oh my God.” Sam sprints over to Eric, crouching down to the boy’s level with worry filled eyes. Against his better judgement, the older twin flinches away from his brother’s touch, tears only getting heavier as he scrambles backwards and far away from Sam. He’s shaking violently again, but this time from fear of what his brother could do to him. He has to know, it’s not like Robert was quiet. He has to think that Eric is some sort of monster. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Eric… Please.” Sam’s seemingly gentle words only make Eric cry louder, hands clasped over his ears in an attempt to stop the phrase from echoing in his brain. All he can hear is the word please, over and over, mocking him. The last word he said to Robert could be the last time they ever speak. It could be the last time he ever sees the boy’s smiling face or hears his snarky comments. Sam reaches out again, hands shaking like his brother’s breakdown is sending him through one.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t touch me!” Eric shoves the boy away and his twin’s tears finally fall, just as violently as his own. Sam rocks forward, trying to seek comfort in Eric’s touch, but the boy simply maneuvers around the gesture and Sam crumples, face buried in his hands. Eric finally starts breathing right once Sam is at least 10 feet away, all the way across the room. He barely registers the figure in the doorframe, the voice being the thing that makes him jump.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What. The actual </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck </span>
  </em>
  <span>Eric.” Maurice. Maurice was clinging onto the doorframe, a rage filled smile on his face. He blinks twice at Eric before running his tongue over his teeth and smiling a little too venomously. “Yeah I saw the whole thing. First of all, you owe Robert a huge fucking apology. Second of all, you owe the same thing to Sam once you finish with Robert. Do I make myself </span>
  <em>
    <span>crystal fucking clear</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Eric nods vigorously, too frightened to really move or speak any words. Maurice gives him a final glare before kneeling down to Sam, who’s still sobbing into his palms. Eric just watches as the brunette slowly takes his brother into his arms and rocks him back and forth, shushing him softly. It’s all Eric can do to not burst back into tears. He would never be there for Sam like other people were, he made Sam cry, he broke Robert’s heart. At this point, all the light he thought he had, the good person he thought he was, was stomped out. And nothing could change his mind.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>/ / /</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Eric leaves the house about 10 minutes after Maurice blows up at him, body really moving on its own. He stayed until Sam stopped crying into Maurice’s shoulder. The younger twin then clings onto Eric, begging him not to go find Robert. Not to deliberately seek out the boy while he was still so emotion driven. All Eric does is wrap his arms around Sam and whisper to him, telling him that he absolutely has to find Robert. He then leaves Sam in Maurice’s hands, who lets the boy gently embrace him once more. The brunette nods as if to say good luck to the boy and Eric sets off, phone clutched tightly in his hand. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The sun has sunk well below the horizon when he reaches Robert’s house. A 30 minute walk seems like a good idea until you actually have to do so. The house looms over him, threatening him with the possible horrors that could happen within the walls. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His heart starts pounding when the creaky front door opens, the screen opening soon after. And there stands the one person that Eric wants to run into the arms of and avoid like he carries the plague at the same time. Robert looks like he’s been crying for hours, wearing a loose sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants. His sneakers aren’t even tied, and he’s probably only outside to get the mail or fresh air. It doesn’t take long for their eyes to lock, Eric’s breath taken away instantaneously. Robert springs into action almost immediately, not taking the time that Eric wishes he had. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What the hell Eric. What do you want?” Robert’s voice is filled with more rage than Eric every thought possible from the boy he once considered his best friend. Tears threaten his eyes once more, his gaze barely kept even with the others. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m… I’m so sorry.” For the first time in 3 years, for the first time since a fight in the 9th grade over someone pushing Eric a little too roughly, for the first time since he ended up with blood stained across his fists</span>
  <em>
    <span>, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Robert throws a punch. Except for the first time </span>
  <em>
    <span>ever </span>
  </em>
  <span>it’s at Eric. And for the first time in his entire existence, Eric can’t bring himself to throw one back. He can’t even try to defend himself. Because if he hurts Robert, if he lays a single finger on the boy, he will never forgive himself. He will wake up every morning and regret the fact that he did. So he just welcomes the pain that shoots across his jaw with open arms, welcomes the metallic taste in his mouth when blood inevitably spills from his lip. Instead, Eric looks back at Robert, who is tense and probably expecting some sort of retaliation. Some sort of sick words spat in his direction or an attack. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I won’t hurt you. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>can’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>hurt you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Too scared?” The brunette relaxes a little upon hearing Eric’s words, eyes softening ever so slightly. It’s enough for the boy to continue without feeling like he won’t have time to finish his sentence before another hit comes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No Robert. It’s because I think… I think I’m in love with you.” Eric’s brain is barely working, everything left in a hazy state as the words leave his mouth. His hand reaches out and grabs the front of Robert’s hoodie, a noise of shock from the brunette registering vaguely in the back of Eric’s mind before he smashes their mouths together. Everything tastes like Eric’s blood, Robert not quite responding until everything becomes as clear as Eric can make it. And he wraps his arms around the blonde’s waist, seemingly ignorant to the metallic taste. Eric goes lightheaded, the world spinning faster than normal. Robert pulls away first, just long enough to take a shaky breath in. He looks just as disassociated as Eric feels, mouth parting open as if he’s going to say something that never comes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Robert?” It’s hardly a whisper, turquoise eyes meeting brown ones in the midst of a pitch black night. Robert swallows roughly, pupils blown wide. The words are right there on Eric’s tongue, the only thing holding him back being fear. Fear he ruined everything. But it was worth a shot to hear it back. “Robert… I love you.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ve waited </span>
  <em>
    <span>so fucking long</span>
  </em>
  <span> for you to say that.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. VII</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Um uh have a jalph recommendation off of tumblr for anon!!</p><p>Ralph no good at horror movie</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Horror movies are meant to make people’s heart race, blood pump through their veins so heavily that they hear the rush in their ears. It can make your body pump with adrenaline, and a sick, twisted smile break out on your features. One that makes you feel horrible about yourself after the fact, but the fascination in the moment is too much. It simply just occurs without a second thought. However, on the opposite end of the spectrum theres people who wither under the sight of blood, inhaling too sharply and too quickly, to the point where they get lightheaded. The plain thought of horror movies sends them into a place of discomfort, shifting constantly and their stomach threatening to make a mess. Ralph Allebach is one of those people. His eyes can’t lock too long with real, or fake, blood and his mind depicts the graphic scenes and psychopathic behaviours as something that could be so painfully real. And it terrifies him every single time. Which is a real crying shame because it’s all his friends ever want to watch.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he got invited to Simon’s house, he didn’t expect anything to happen outside of small talk and just being together. Roger, Maurice, Robert, Jack and Henry all also got invited, not that Ralph really minds. He likes hanging out with the people he’s slowly grown to love over time. It was a bumpy path, especially with their past feelings, but now they all get along well enough to visit each other around 10 times a year. Although, most times Ralph’s university plans tests at the most inconvenient times and he has to study at Simon’s place. Jack did the same thing once, so he wasn’t the only one who heavily miscalculated, but it was enough for the others to heavily tease Ralph. And then promptly offer to watch a horror movie, much to Ralph’s discomfort. He’s tried to get out of it before, claiming that he was too tired, or his mother was calling, but he’d been called out on his lies fairly quickly. Not to mention, he usually jumped straight to the mother lie and his own mother has passed years ago. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They do actually spend time talking to each other, Ralph staying between Simon and Robert the entire time, trying to break any feelings of discomfort that remain from being trapped by the two. It’s three hours before someone utters even a word about doing anything else. They’ve gotten comfy on Simon’s upstairs couch, the host sprawled out into Roger’s lap, fingers running through the other’s hair. Roger himself is just scrolling through his phone with soft glances in Simon’s direction frequently, glaring at anyone who looks too long. Maurice and Robert have engaged in a game of slightly aggressive uno with Ralph, all three boys swearing violently when another wins. As for Henry and Jack, they’ve gotten so bored that they’re placing bets on who will win the next round and just passing the same 5 dollar bill back and forth. At some point, Jack wins 2 bets in a row and victory punches Henry’s arm repeatedly as the boy reluctantly hands him another $5. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>During their 23rd round, Robert falls backwards, cards now sprawled across the wooden table for the other two to see. Ralph almost comments about it but is quickly cut off by the boy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This is boooring. Can’t we just watch a movie or something? There’s so many we haven’t even touched.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah!” Everyone gives Ralph a sideways look, and the fair boy continues, probably saying what none of them really want to hear from his mouth, “Like Sci-Fi movies or action movies, or even slice of life movies. C’mon guys there’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>other </span>
  </em>
  <span>genres besides horror.” Jack snorts at the blond’s response, a chuckle emerging from Roger as well. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If you think any of us would actually sit in the same place for 2 and a half hours and enjoy a slice of life movie, you’re high out of your mind. You’re the only one who doesn’t enjoy horror so I think that you've been outvoted. Sorry that this is a democracy, pretty boy.” Jack folds his arms across his chest, a smug smile across his face as the others break into shouts of agreement. Ralph narrows his eyes in the redhead’s general direction, rising to his feet and dusting off the front of his sweater. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well then I should be going. It’s not like I enjoy the movies and while I had a lovely time, it won’t last. Everything about them is not my speed, especially the shitty plot lines because they’re too focused on the gore aspect. Which, by the way, is all you guys enjoy. So goodbye, I had fun, see you all in 3 months.” Ralph turns his back to his friends, ready to walk out of the door and into the cool September air. But confident words stop him in his path. They make every muscle in his body freeze up, locking him in place with his hand on the brass doorknob. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I think you’re just too </span>
  <em>
    <span>scared</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” The spine chilling voice of Jack Merridew activated Ralph’s pride. Sometimes he hates his ego. He hates how he can never back down from a challenge, or blurts out things he doesn’t quite think about. The air in the room is dangerous, sparking with competition between the two boys. It always has been this way, long before they were actually friends. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Guess I’m staying another 3 hours.” </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>/ / /</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Ralph regrets his decision almost immediately after he says it, because everyone jumps up and rushes into Simon’s basement, hollering about how they finally got Ralph to admit he likes the gruesome films. Simon and Roger linger behind, having the fair boy carry snacks to the basement undoubtedly so they can have some time alone. It is Simon’s house, and Ralph knows that they’ve probably been longing for a moment such as this so he swiftly exits the kitchen, arms full of junk food and drinks. He doesn’t even question the relationship between the two, just knows that they aren’t quite dating but aren’t even thinking about other people in that way. Roger and Simon spend every hour of every day together that they can, and it’s no secret to anyone that they’re romantically involved. It’s an odd mixture, Ralph has to admit, but it seems to work out for them so he can’t really complain. It makes his chest feel warm and fuzzy when the two cuddle up together, because there was once a time where they would’ve ran in the other direction. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh shit Ralph’s got the goods!” Maurice takes all of the food from the fair boy’s arms once he enters the basement, handing it out to everyone and taking the entire family sized bag of sour patch kids for himself. He leaves Ralph with food for Roger and Simon and a full bag of rainbow licorice for himself. He has a bottle of pop that will most likely be passed off to Roger then sat on the table for the entire movie. Ralph has never been the biggest fan of soft drinks, much to his friends' shock. The fair boy may be the biggest fiend for sweets out of all of them, but can’t stand the carbonation of the drinks. He usually pops the tab and lets them sit out to go flat. Which ends in relentless teasing from Jack mainly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Where are the other two?” Henry takes a swig of the oddly coloured blue drink in his hands, one that Ralph doesn’t even remember bringing down. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“They stayed upstairs for a bit. I think they’re buying the movie off of Simon’s laptop and then they’re going to set it up on the screen.” A wolf whistle meets Ralph’s ears and he shushes everyone quickly, making sure that Roger doesn’t hear. He would definitely have their heads for it, and make it as horrible as he could. The room goes abnormally silent for the specific gathering of people, everyone seeming to get the hint. He looks around quickly, eyes locking with Jack’s. The boy was his best bet, because if Roger got mad at Ralph for interrupting anything, he could use the redhead as a defense mechanism. The boy seems to get the eye signals and groans before standing up and off of the arm of the couch.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jack and I will go upstairs and grab them. That way we can watch the movie. Just pick spots on the couch or something.” Jack meets Ralph’s side, trudging up the stairs as if he doesn’t want to be here. And if he had more confidence and wasn’t almost about to puke from nerves, Ralph would make a snide comment about how the freckled boy may be the one who is truly scared. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If I witness my best mate and one of my other close friends sucking faces on the kitchen countertop, I am giving you permission to kill me.” Ralph scoffs, hand grabbing the railing. He wants to make a comment about how immature Jack is being currently, but his stomach does churn with the thought of walking in on something that they really shouldn’t be seeing. Instead of admitting it to Jack’s face, he just mumbles something about the redhead taking this way too seriously. Jack grumbles unintelligible words under his breath and slowly turns the doorknob. He doesn’t move, just looks around carefully before Ralph shoves his back, pushing him into the open and promptly following. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“AH SHIT SHOOT ME.” Roger and Simon are standing at the counter, a laptop opened wide in front of them. The only thing that indicates that Jack saw something wrong is Roger’s hand clasped tightly on Simon’s waist, but they both look just as confused as Ralph feels.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Um. Maurice is growing impatient as he usually does. Have you finished buying the movie?”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>/ / /</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They all go downstairs together, Jack rubbing his eyes and mumbling about how he wants to erase his memory for good. He stops fairly soon after he begins though because Roger clips the back of his head hard enough for Jack to wince and swear pretty violently. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The movie takes about 2 minutes to set up, Simon pulling out blankets for everyone. Usually Ralph would sit next to the tan boy and mumble comments to him that send Simon into a fit of giggles, but he doesn’t want to interrupt the calming atmosphere around the boy and Roger. He proves himself right when the raven haired boy sits down and Ralph’s best friend almost instantly crawls into his lap and wraps his arms around him. He just smiles at the two before glancing around quickly to find a replacement seat for his. And just as unlucky as ever, the only free area is right next to Jack. The one person he wants to avoid like he has the plague. The one person who made Ralph stay by playing to the attribute he can’t control. But it’s not enough to stop the fair boy from fulfilling what could be considered a dare, so he plops down right next to the redhead and crosses his arms as tightly as he can. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The movie begins and Ralph almost instantly regrets his decision to stay. Of course they had to pick a horribly gory film. Of course it had to be something that would make Ralph’s stomach do flips and his head spin. Because for some reason, the other boys knew just what to do to freak the fair boy out. Maurice is sitting on the floor at Ralph’s feet, tilting his head back every so often to make sure that he’s alright, which the blond heavily appreciates. However, he assures Maurice that he will be okay and lies straight through his teeth, saying that he’s grown used to the fake blood and creepy situations. Maurice even goes as far to suggest that he lies to Roger to say that he’s uncomfortable to get the movie to be turned off. That’s when Jack butts into their conversation, snapping at the brunette to shut up, which Maurice does tentatively. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They get about 30 minutes in and that’s when the gore begins. Ralph can hardly think properly, hands shaking violently and throat closing up. He tries his hardest to focus on other things and perhaps slip into a happier place mentally, but the scenes are getting so bad that he begins to flinch whenever something comes up on the screen. He locks eyes with Maurice somewhere in the middle of it all, who turns his body to quite aggressively smack Jack’s thigh, the sound catching the attention of everyone in the room. Jack himself lets out a noise of what could be hurt or shock. Either one makes logical sense.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What the fuck Maurice?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re a dick Jack Merridew.” The other boys have gone back to the movie, the brunette’s words being nothing utterly unique to any of them. But Jack glances over at Ralph long enough to know that his face has gone pale and his entire body is vibrating with fear. The redhead just grumbles before shifting his weight slightly into Ralph, pulling the fair boy into his body. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What’re you-?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shut up blondie.” And the fair boy doesn’t have the energy to move away from Jack, just rests his head on the redhead’s chest, eyes facing the screen. Every time a gory scene, or even just a disturbing scene, comes up, his eyes are covered by the other’s hand until everything is over. The sound of the film is already muffled by the fabric of Jack’s shirt, but almost disappears completely when a hand is gently placed over his other ear. The loudest thing in Ralph’s head is the now erratic beating of Jack’s heart. He almost wants to comment about how nervous the movie is making the other, but bites his tongue once he realises that it’s not the movie. Jack isn’t scared of the movie, his heartbeat hasn’t sped up because of the terrifying scenes. There’s something to him that’s scarier than all of those things. Something that makes his heart race and his head spin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That something is Ralph. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. VIII</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Rogermon chapter in which they go camping and Simon is terrified of thunder and Roger really want to kiss him.</p><p>Due to like... the intensity of the kisses I will 1000% clarify these boys are 18.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>There are a couple things in life that Simon </span>
  <em>
    <span>should </span>
  </em>
  <span>enjoy. Camping is one of these things. He loves the outdoors so much that he was actually the person who recommended the choir go camping together as some sort of bonding exercise, just to make them closer together. He adores nature to the point that being without basic utilities for a few days doesn’t really bother him. In fact, it’s where he’d rather be than trapped inside forever. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His friends, however, don’t share this love for the outdoors. Jack is obnoxiously against being without a roof over his head for more than 24 hours, whining whenever the choir has to do practice outdoors because the band is using the chorus room. Simon can’t blame him, the redhead burns so easily. There was one occasion where he stared out of the window on a bus ride on a particularly hot day, and Jack ended up adorning a sunburn on his cheek and nose. Roger doesn’t enjoy the sun either, but mainly because he’s not fond of the brightness. Not to mention that Roger spends most time indoors because he’s always with Jack. He does listen to Simon’s mindless rambles about different types of flowers and what is and isn’t edible plant wise though. It’s odd to have someone actually hear him and pretend to be interested in what he’s saying, but he’s sure Roger just does it to be polite.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The rest of the choir either gets squirmy around bugs, or hates the humidity, and Percival is even allergic to most things that occur outside. The only person who is as enthusiastic about the outdoors as Simon is, is Maurice. He constantly jumps around once they’re let into fresh air, and has helped the tan boy climb a couple trees up to the top, practically carrying Simon back to solid Earth when they had to go back inside and the tan boy couldn’t do so by himself. Maurice usually earns a snippy remark from Roger, who fusses over Simon whenever the two engage in something dangerous for some reason unbeknownst to everyone. Maurice has become like Simon’s brother and neither of them really seem to mind. In fact, Maurice managed to convince everyone that camping </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>a good bonding exercise for them. It goes so far that he invites the twins, who were once boy scouts, to help them out a little bit. And for the rest of the day, Simon is over the moon because of it. 3 weeks. 3 weeks and he’d be out in the wild with his friends.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>/ / /</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The school is kind enough to hire a bus for the trip, which Simon sits next to Roger on because everyone else is too scared to. He’s never been sure about how the raven haired boy feels about him, but all Simon knows is that Roger tolerates him enough to not comment on anything for the entire ride. At some point, their hands brush against each other. It was an odd mistake, both of them reaching for something at the same time, but Roger pulls back like he’s been burned by the touch of Simon’s skin, and turns to face his body away from the tan boy entirely. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The trip there is quite entertaining, mostly because the bus is buzzing with some sort of positive energy. Maurice and Sam fall asleep on each other, which leads to soft snickers and teasing whispers from boy to boy. Jack puts a harsh end to that as quickly as he can, mumbling about how they’re not middle school girls and it’s nothing to be worried about. It takes them longer than they had planned to arrive, but once they do, Simon is the first one off and much to everyone else’s reluctance, he’s ready to lose himself in nature.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>/ / /</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Simon gets assigned a tent with Roger and Henry, but never actually spends time in it. Even once the sun falls, he's sitting out in front of the site, watching the stars swim across the sky like children in a kiddie pool. The other two have retired to sleep a while back, Roger mumbling something about Simon staying safe and if he hears something to crawl back into the tent. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s just now that he recaps the events of today. Dark clouds rolling over the sky, threatening them with rain that luckily never fell, Sam tripping over a rock and Maurice somehow rushing across the riverbank to catch him, and Jack complaining about the inevitable peeling of his skin. It was so painfully normal to what they usually do, but Simon got to wander off and scratch a couple things into his notebook about plants native to the area. He really hadn’t meant to be so distracted by nature, but it just felt like home to him. The buzzing of bees, the rush of a small river through the thickly wooded area, the crunch of leaves beneath shoes. Everything was exactly how Simon liked it. At peace.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At peace until the first crack of thunder ripples through the air. Simon’s head shoots up, heart picking up speed as a second clap follows promptly. His breath gets caught in his throat, muscles freezing up on him as heavy pellets of rain begin to fall from the sky. Simon has </span>
  <em>
    <span>always </span>
  </em>
  <span>been terrified of thunderstorms. He never told anyone about it, because it’s not really something that needs to come up in day to day conversation without the flush of checks and teasing jeers. His usual remedy for the heart stopping fear was to find his mother and hold her tightly until the storm passed. Or at the very least stay in his baby sister’s room to just have company. But now, he was alone and completely exposed to the world. Anything could happen. Rain pours down Simon’s face, most likely mixing with his own salty tears that he isn’t even sure are falling. The tan boy is soaked to the bone by now, school shirt not offering much protection against the reign of mother nature. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Si? Oh jeez…” Roger’s annoyed voice comes from behind him, but Simon can’t bother to make a single move. He has completely locked up, brain shutting off once the third and fourth thunderclaps boom across the sky. Lightning strikes somewhere in the distance, an exponentially loud rumble following. “Si, c’mon you need to come back into the tent. It’s dangerous.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When the smaller boy doesn’t make any sort of movement, Roger swears under his breath and retreats back into the tent, probably to leave Simon alone. It’s never been the other boy’s speed to comfort anyone or really even care about their well-being, so of course the tan boy isn’t an exception. Or so he thought. But the rain stops dripping down his cheeks, body sheltered by something that the heavy pour is now pounding on. Simon almost thanks Maurice for the help, finally regaining control of his actions, but when he looks up, it’s not the brunette’s face that he sees. Roger is holding a jacket over the two of them, eyebrows knit together in frustration. Mud has begun to cake the base of both of their shoes, plastering itself on the fabric at Simon’s knees as well. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hurry up! Henry’s about to shut you out of the tent!” With those words shouted over the extraordinarily loud storm, the tan boy is up on his feet, the raven haired boy’s jacket retreating from above them. They’re both painfully wet, shirts sticking to skin because of the heavy downpour. In fact, when they enter the tent Henry shrieks out a complaint about how they need to sort out the entire situation. It’s a decently big enough area for them to stay as far away from the blond as possible, but he still mumbles complaints under his breath. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Henry. A little rain never hurt anybody. Just stay on that side of the tent and we’ll stay over here. Plus we have a change of clothes for tomorrow that’ll just have to be used now, it’s no big deal.” Henry gives Roger a slight huff of air that he instantly regrets because as if he expected it, the raven haired boy to Simon’s side strips himself of his soaked shirt and uses it to smack Henry on the back. The blond screams with discomfort, his own shirt now sporting a damp line. Simon really tries his hardest not to laugh at the younger boy’s misery but can’t help it once Henry starts wailing in Shakespearean English about his woes. Roger plops back down next to Simon, shirt lost somewhere along the mess of sleeping bags and pillows. The tan boy smiles at his friends until another loud crack of thunder shatters the sky, making him practically jump into Roger’s arms. The tent goes absolutely silent, Simon knowing both boy’s have eyes locked on him. But he can’t help the fear that courses through his veins and paralyses him. His hand has a tight grip on Roger’s bicep, nails digging into the skin in probably a fairly painful way. His other hand has reached down to grab the boy’s thigh with the same steel grip, brain almost freezing up once more. The damp fabric of his friend’s pants is the only thing that keeps him grounded, as it’s the only thing he can really </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Si? Are you afraid of thunder-?” Simon squeaks out a quick ‘no’, face probably heavily flushed from the embarrassing situation. The tan boy quickly removes his hands off of Roger, apologising softly to the raven haired boy. Henry gives them both a suspicious look, narrowing his eyes ever so slightly, that it’s almost unnoticeable. If Simon wasn't looking directly at him, he’s not sure he would’ve picked up on it at all. As for Roger, he hasn’t looked at the tan boy since he clung onto the other for comfort, head turning to face the opposite side of the tent. His knee is bouncing up and down erratically; it always does when he’s nervous or has too much pent up energy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, you two should get out of your </span>
  <em>
    <span>soggy </span>
  </em>
  <span>clothing before you get sick. I’m going back to sleep so I don’t have to deal with your shit.” And with that, Henry climbs back into his sleeping back before flipping them both off. Roger finally turns his head to look at Simon, who smiles weakly, eyes probably still wide from the earlier event. Not even 2 seconds after, another rumble ripples through the air and this time Simon flinches back, Roger leaning forward to catch the boy before he hits solid ground. That leaves them in a very awkward position, with the raven haired boy’s arms wrapped around the other, both sets of eyes widening in fear. If he isn’t mistaken, Simon swears a light dust of red is strewn across Roger’s cheeks that isn’t usually there. Perhaps it’s because he is closer to the boy than he is most of the time, but perhaps it’s because of the current set of circumstances. How close their bodies are, how abnormally kind Roger is being to Simon. It’s not like either one of them hasn’t noticed how things have changed just because the tan boy is scared of something. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“God, just kiss already. I can practically </span>
  <em>
    <span>see </span>
  </em>
  <span>the tension radiating off of you two.” Henry’s words snap both of them back to reality, Roger dropping Simon onto the cold Earth covered by only a thin layer of fabric from the tent. He winces as his head collides with the ground, rubbing the base of his skull. “Hey you were just about to confess your love, don’t drop him!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No I wasn’t. Now go to sleep.” It’s silent for a second before a mutter of ‘you motherfucker’ rings through the tent. It’s enough to spike his interest, so Simon carefully maneuvers himself up to see Roger launch himself back at Henry, who has his phone held above his head and a smug grin on his face. A video of the moment that happened minutes ago is playing. Simon’s jaw goes slack and every thought in his usually restless mind stills. A video. Not even a video of them doing anything horribly wrong, but still a video of them nonetheless. Moments are very different when you’re in one and when you see what others have witnessed. From what the short series of clips shows, they look so painfully in love with each other that it doesn’t make logical sense to Simon. It doesn’t match up in his head. Those two people can’t be the same Roger and Simon that are in the tent right now because Roger and Simon </span>
  <em>
    <span>aren’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>in love. As the tan boy is lost in thought, another boom of thunder shakes him out of it, his entire body convulsing. Both of the boy’s heads shoot up from across the room and Roger is by Simon’s side in an instant, trying to get the boy to stop shaking. He gently wraps his fingers around the other’s hands, glaring at Henry, who just shrugs and leans back into his sleeping bag, back facing the two. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Henry was right earlier. You’re going to get sick if you stay in this clothing. Where's your bag, I’ll go grab it.” Simon just shakes his head, exhausted by his own fears. All he wants is for the storm to be over and for all of these moments to be forgotten by tomorrow. “Well if you won’t go change then I’ll get you something to wear over that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No Rog. It’s fine. I’ll be okay.” </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>/ / /</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Somehow, Roger manages to convince Simon to change in the far corner of the tent while he does the same in the opposite corner. It doesn’t take either of them that long, wet clothing being shoved into one of the extra bags Simon brought along. He’s still shivering, but the feeling doesn’t last long. Much to the tan boy’s surprise, Roger drapes a jacket over Simon’s shoulders, fitting his arms through the sleeves. It’s not much bigger on Simon than it is on the owner, but Roger buys all of his clothing a size up for comfort reasons. The jacket is big enough to cover the smaller boy’s hands up to the middle of his fingers, making his hands almost entirely invisible. The rain still hits the top of the tent with great passion, but thunder and lightning have halted entirely, hopefully for the rest of the night. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So… before Henry decided to rudely interrupt us. Where were we?” Simon can’t help but burst into a fit of giggles, Roger soon following. The moment was sure to be an inside joke to them in the future, mindless teases about the one time they got stuck in a tent and shared something that could be called sweet. It has happened to a couple of their friends before, awkward situations that turn into the most hilarious joke between the two of them. Not that Roger is really the kind of person who finds anything amusing, but he does seem to be thoroughly enjoying this. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know. I can't really even remember the details of it.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh?” And Simon feels his body pushed back ever so gently, but it was unexpected, so he does end up falling backwards just as he did earlier. And just as earlier, Roger catches him, most likely because he’s the one who made Simon fall in the first place. “Kinda like this.” It’s a soft mutter of words, the focal point of the conversation before this silly reenactment disappearing quicker than either one of them could possibly imagine. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Their eyes lock again, just as earlier, and this time Simon takes in everything. The colour of Roger’s eyes, the curvature of his face, how the redness of his cheeks has grown splotchy and intensified significantly. Things he would never notice unless they were as close as they are. Simon’s hand softly snakes up between them and his fingertips settle on Roger’s cheek, palm straying away from actually touching anything. The boy himself still has a tight grip on the other’s waist, steadying him with his arms. Simon glances back down at the ground, estimating about 4 inches between him and the cool Earth before rocking backwards and breaking free from Roger’s grasp. He falls forward just after the tan boy though, leaning his elbow next to Simon’s ear while his other hand steadies himself up and off the ground near the boy’s waist.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No words are spoken as both of Simon’s hands cup the raven haired boy’s face, but his eyes flutter shut and he leans forward into the gentle touch. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Si…” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shh,” He places a hand over Roger’s mouth, who gives him a well earned glare. The boy never liked to be told what to do and Simon figures he’s not exactly helpful to that feeling. “I know… I know.” And their foreheads bump together, Simon’s breath being ripped straight from his lungs in a way he’s never felt before. He just lets Roger rub his thumb over his hip bone, the usually brutal boy never seeming so genuine and sweet about anything.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh c’mon really? You’re still not going to kiss?” Roger makes a quick move to get up and undoubtedly threaten Henry in some sort of creative way that can only be described as so utterly </span>
  <em>
    <span>Roger</span>
  </em>
  <span>. But Simon is quicker and does the only thing that his already short circuiting brain can think of. He grabs Roger’s face and practically pushes their mouths together. Almost immediately, Roger registers what is happening and returns the gesture that was meant solely as a distraction. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Simon has never really thought about kissing Roger before today. In fact, he’s never really thought about kissing </span>
  <em>
    <span>anyone </span>
  </em>
  <span>before today. He never imagined the drag of lips against his own, how any of it would actually feel. It’s not like Simon is overly romantic, in fact he’s quite the opposite. All he’s thought about is friendships and what people mean to him platonically. But something about today, something about Roger, changed everything. The boy is like a ticking bomb. Calm until the final seconds, right when he explodes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Roger isn’t exactly gentle with Simon. He isn't rough with him either. Somewhere in the middle is where he falls. Just harsh enough to make the tan boy wince, but not in a pained or uncomfortable way. Simon pulls away first, expecting some sort of outburst or even gritty insult from the boy. Instead, Roger drags the boy’s head back where it was before, locking their lips just as he did a few seconds ago. And Simon doesn’t even care, doesn’t really remember that Henry is still in the room, probably cowering beneath his sleeping bag, expecting an attack at any moment. Roger begins to trail kisses to his jaw, and Simon wants to remind him there’s another boy in the room, a probably </span>
  <em>
    <span>traumatised </span>
  </em>
  <span>boy, but his mouth simply gives up on trying to form words. The only thing that leaves his lips is laboured breathing, as it’s the only thing that </span>
  <em>
    <span>can</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Once Roger finds his throat, just peppering kisses along the areas, innocently. That is, until his lips linger too long in a certain area, and due to the halt in movements Simon finally catches his breath and wheezes out a quick one word phrase.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Henry.” Roger just chuckles against the area below his ear, sending shivers down the tan boy’s spine. The chuckles merge into full blown laughter, the boy muffling it by burying his face into the crook of Simon’s neck. It takes him a moment before he lifts his head and gently begins to kiss Simon, slower and less passionate than before. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I kind of forgot about him.” Roger mumbles into the boy’s mouth, who is finally coming back to his senses and off of his high. It takes less time than he wants for Roger to notice that Simon is relaxing, and slipping into a sleepy trance. The rain has slowed to a quiet patter on the top of the tent and between Roger’s body heat and the noises, he can’t help but let his eyelids grow heavy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Go to sleep Si.” </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>/ / /</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When they wake, Simon is held down by Roger’s arms and Henry is watching them with a mortified expression on his face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You couldn’t be a little </span>
  <em>
    <span>quieter </span>
  </em>
  <span>next time? I don’t need to hear your sappy love story. Or your intense late night make out sessions.” Henry scrunches up his face once more, a slight scowl playing on his lips. Simon feels his face go bright red, solely from embarrassment. He half expected Henry to be asleep throughout the entire situation, but apparently the boy had been much more. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“5 seconds Henry.” It’s a grumble into the back of Simon’s neck that sends shivers down his spine, but the blond just across from them is up in almost an instant, tugging at the zipper on the front side of the tent. Roger, however, is quicker. He launches himself onto his feet before Simon can really blink and grabs the collar of Henry’s shirt, dragging him out of the tent while the younger boy screams for help. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>20 minutes pass and Roger reenters the tent, breathing heavily. Simon managed to pack everything up and make himself slightly presentable in the time being, and not like he just woke up. The raven haired boy gives him a sly smirk before grabbing the two bags that belong to them off of the ground. He leaves Henry’s just where it is, almost glaring at the bag with disdain. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Chief knows. And so does Maurice, which means Sam also knows. They tell each other everything. You’re okay with that, right? If not I’ll beat their asses.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No it’s fine. I don’t mind enough for you to get injured because of them.” Roger smirks at Simon before planting a soft kiss onto the other’s lips. It’s probably meant to be innocent and quick, but nothing ever is when it comes to Roger. He prompts Simon’s mouth open, deepening it as much as he can before the tan boy pulls back, suddenly reminding himself of the unfortunate circumstances in which someone could interrupt them. Roger doesn’t seem to care, instead moves to mouth at the other’s jaw softly, pouring out emotion into what he does in some sort of odd way. He finally pulls back when Simon gently taps the back of his skull twice, eyes filled to the brim with mischief. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Rog, everyone’s awake. It’s not exactly privacy central around here. And with who heard last night…” Roger smiles again, biting his bottom lip with what can only be pure amusement. Amusement at Simon’s reluctance to jump headfirst into this. Amusement at how he isn’t ready to spend every minute trading spit with the boy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know we see things very differently. I wouldn’t care if-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I would, so let’s just clean up and go out there.” Roger nods, eyes wide most likely from the fact that Simon cut him off. He does suppose it was unexpected, especially from someone with a track record such as his. But it’s been said and Roger seems more shocked than mad, stealing one last kiss from Simon’s lips that the tan boy just sighs at. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Roger was going to be the death of him, there was simply no denying it now.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. IX</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>It’s another jalph request on tumblr!!!</p><p>Jack and Ralph are gay and in a locker room together</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Ralph has a serious love hate relationship with playing soccer. On one hand, he gets the adrenaline rush of scoring a goal, the relieved feeling in his chest once the referee blows the whistle and the game comes to an exhilarating close, the joy that bubbles up in his chest and passes through his mouth with body shaking laughter once he realises that the score is in their favour. All of it makes him love the game, the only thing in the world that can possibly make him dislike what he does is Jack Merridew. Despite playing on the same team and for the same overall goal of winning the game and carrying the trophy home, Jack and Ralph hardly get along on a good day. They end up colliding bodies at least once during each practice and more than that during proper games. It happens enough that the coach has pulled them both aside after practice to tell them he's disappointed in Ralph’s behaviour as a captain and Jack’s behaviour as a dedicated player. That discussion didn’t end well for anyone, Jack got benched for the next 3 games and Ralph being given a stern warning and got benched for the future 3 practices. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Today is particularly tense between the two, and it really isn’t Ralph’s fault. He never starts these kinds of things, he just can’t stand by and let Jack finish them. It’s Friday and pretty much everybody wants to go home and relax, Ralph included, but of course the redhead had to start something between them on the one day he just wants to finish early. He bumps into the fair boy’s shoulder roughly as they walk to the field, grinning maliciously as he calls out a very fake apology, the sugar coated poisonous tone seeping into his voice. Actually starting to play is not much better, collisions happening more frequently than usually. And it’s rarely on the blond’s side of things, just Jack running into Ralph to laugh at him when he skids into the dirt. He very desperately wants to spit at the boy, but it would show that he gets under the fair boy’s skin and giving Jack the satisfaction of knowing that isn’t worth anything. He would get this smug look on his face and make a snide remark about how he must </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>annoy Ralph, as if the redhead isn’t already aware that he does. Ralph hates it when he gets like that, when he acts like he’s the best thing to ever grace this planet. But it’s all part of Jack Merridew’s horrible god complex.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ralph has always been infatuated by Merridew in some weird way. From when the redhead tripped over him at the playground almost 13 years ago, a bandana wrapped around his head and a fake eyepatch on his left eye, Ralph had always wanted to know more. When the boy started bullying him and his friends, specifically Peter who earned the nickname “Piggy” in middle school, Ralph had gotten angry but yet some part of him wondered </span>
  <em>
    <span>why</span>
  </em>
  <span> Merridew was like the way he was. And why he couldn’t leave the fair boy alone. Because to him it didn’t seem like simply a competitive spirit or someone who wanted to be the best at everything he did. Merridew had a personal vendetta against Ralph and nobody knew why. He had shared this revelation with his friends before, Peter snorting and claiming that Jack was simply a terrible person to everyone, and Ralph just fell into his line of fire at the wrong time. But upon talking with Peter’s aunt, he figured out that Merridew wasn’t a complete dickbag to everyone. In fact, she described him as a lively and charismatic boy who may have made one or two inappropriate remarks regarding her nephew, but promptly recovered from them. Which led Ralph down the long path and late nights staying up wondering why, of all people, Jack Merridew hated </span>
  <em>
    <span>him.</span>
  </em>
  <span> There was nothing special about Ralph, he was decent looking, with a decent life. Nothing that made him a primary target. Outside of his enormous pride that he couldn’t just swallow, but the fair boy had assumed Merridew had run into people who challenged him before. Perhaps not people who did so and succeeded. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The coach blows the ear piercing whistle to call break, and Ralph almost collapses from exhaustion. Usually he wouldn’t be spent halfway through a normal practice, but Jack has been bodying him the entire time and his muscles are screaming for a break. Once he gets to sit on the bench, Ralph’s bones practically become putty, and he has to use the water container to hold himself upright. It’s not cold like the fair boy had wanted, instead a lukewarm temperature that makes the water impossible to drink without scrunching up your nose. The sun beats down on Ralph’s back, threatening his skin more than usual. They had an extended practice today, and it was so freakishly hot that most players' shirts were soaked entirely with sweat. Ralph’s head starts spinning, and he just clasps his hands behind his head, the ends of his hair uncomfortably wet with sweat. Between the exhaustion and the head, the boy gets hit with a wave of nausea, stomach threatening to make him revisit his past meal.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Allebach! You better compose yourself. Get back on that field with renewed energy or I’ll have someone else takeover your position as the captain!” The coach’s shouting just adds to the pounding in his head and swimming feeling in his stomach. And just like that, Ralph is bending over and retching, nothing coming up. However, a couple of boys run over to make sure he’s okay, shielding him from outside viewers. Shockingly, Jack Merridew is one of these people. Unshockingly, the boy is just there to laugh at Ralph, like pretty much the rest of the team, until he heaves again, this time the action making him cough violently. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Move it boys! There’s no need to make a scene, he’ll be alright.” The coach shoos everyone away, the other players scattering like flies. Everyone except for a certain redhead, who seems to be frozen in place. Ralph glances up at the middle aged man standing above him, the coach removing his ball cap and shaking his head. “No more playing for you, son. You’ll have to be on the bench. And as for you Merridew, don’t think I haven’t seen what you’ve been doing. You’ll be helping Allebach walk himself to the locker room and staying here for the rest of practice to make sure he doesn’t actually vomit on the grass. You better holler if he does.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But sir that's so unfair!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Life is unfair, Merridew. Get used to it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>/ / /</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Ralph thankfully doesn’t throw up for the rest of practice, but does feel certain pangs of guilt every time he looks over at Merridew. The boy looks genuinely upset that he isn’t racing around the field, wind blowing through his hair. He plops down next to Ralph about 5 minutes into the restart of training, just watching everyone on the painted grass. Dirt is kicked up by cleats, and the ball that is now stained by green, is punted up into the air. In a very heart pounding moment, the ball goes towards Ralph’s face after a haywire punt, but Merridew somehow manages to catch the ball before it hits it’s target, scowling and tossing it back into play. And everything goes back to the way it was before, as if the redhead didn’t just save his rival from a broken nose without a second thought.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Once everything is over, they're the last two to be released to the locker room, Ralph insisting he is now feeling fine to the coach. However, nothing can change the man’s mind about him having Jack accompany the blond, just in case. The fair boy wants to scream with frustration, but all that comes out is a strangled ‘yes sir.’ Merridew seems just as unhappy about the unfortunate set of circumstances as Ralph is, grumbling about how he should be home by now and how he doesn’t need to be here this late. By the time they enter the tiled room, it’s completely devoid of anyone, just them there. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You stay over there, I’ll stay over here. We don’t need to see each other.” Ralph nods, body filling with happiness that their lockers are conveniently across the room from each other. Their backs would be turned the entire time, so no slightly awkward encounter that could be taken as a stab at friendship could ever occur. They go their separate directions, metal doors popping open and the rustling of fabric meeting Ralph’s ears. Unfortunately, the boy has always been a quick changer. Usually he doesn’t care, throwing on articles and rushing out of the jam packed room as quickly as humanly possible, but today he has some sick feeling in his gut. He can’t leave Jack here alone, but he’s not quite sure why. The gut wrenching feeling keeps him grounded in place, head slightly turning to face the redhead. And for once in his life, Ralph curses his speed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Despite knowing each other and being on the same soccer team for easily 6 years of their lives, it hits Ralph that he’s never really changed anywhere near Jack. He would think that it would be normal, just like every other boy that runs around the tiled room like a hooligan, chasing their friends until someone slips and falls. The same sculpted figure over and over, practically copy and pasted onto the players. But with Jack, Ralph’s breath catches in his throat for a reason he isn’t quite sure of. He’s seen it so many times that it really shouldn’t have this effect, the ripple of muscle as he pulls a shirt over his abdomen, his biceps flexing as he slams the chipped metal door shut, but with the redhead it’s just </span>
  <em>
    <span>different</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Almost like the muscle doesn’t look hard like the majority of the rest of the team, but instead he looks like someone Ralph would want to curl up into and feel protected by. Which is an absolutely absurd thought, this </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>Jack Merridew for God’s sake. Icy blue eyes meet ocean ones and a scoff passes through lips. The fair boy can feel his cheeks heat up as Merridew regards him with great disinterest until he notices the flush that decorates the fair boy’s face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Were you checking me out?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t flatter yourself, I was waiting for you to finish so I could go.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Riiiight. I don't know who you think you’re fooling Ralph. You’re the shittiest liar I’ve ever met and even if you were skilled at it, you can’t exactly hide anything. I caught you doing it. So cut the act and just admit defeat on this one thing. You were checking me out.” A smirk is painted on Jack’s lips, one that Ralph so desperately wants to smack right off. He can’t even lift his hand to initiate a physical fight with the redhead, just hopes his eyes are burning holes into Jack’s soul. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I wasn’t checking you out and I think your ego is inflating to beyond manageable, Merridew.” Ralph practically spits out the name at the boy, rage seeping into his bloodstream. It’s always been this way though. Merridew initiates something and Ralph explodes at him. It’s an endless cycle that can’t be stopped.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh you wound me to my core.” Jack drawls, grabbing his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. “You and I both know the truth and I hope it destroys you. Keeps you up late at night because you can’t stop thinking about me. That’s my goal isn’t it? Weasel my way into your head until I’m the only thing you think about. Until I tear you apart, inside and out.” Ralph’s eyes widen with shock, the malicious grin on the redhead’s face signifying all he needs to know. An unexplainable feeling bubbles up in his chest and just as Jack is about to pass through the heavy metal doors, the words explode out of his mouth.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you implying you want me to like you?” Jack freezes in place, back turned to the fair boy as he continues, “I mean, you always want my attention and you get oddly pissy when you don’t get it. You constantly mess with me, and you don’t ever turn down the mere idea of me possibly having a crush on you, so really, who’s the one that should be accused here?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jack turns slowly, eyes ablaze with pure anger. He throws his bag to the side, strap catching on the edge of the bench, violently swinging. Ralph’s throat tightens because this is the moment he’s been waiting for. He’s made Jack so inexplicably angry that he is going to initiate the first fight. It’s what the fair boy has always wanted, just so the other cant make the claim to the principal that Ralph started it and it wasn’t even Jack’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>fault</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s a really bold statement coming from </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Let’s not act like this isn’t a two way street, because when it comes down to it, you’re just as infatuated with me as I am with you. Don’t think I haven’t noticed it, pretty boy.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well you just proved my point by calling me pretty, I think that one of us is a little more addicted to the other.” They’re in each other’s faces now, their noses practically touching. It’s a horribly cliché scene, two enemies ending up like this. Ralph cant tell if Jack is about to break his jaw or confess some sort of twisted love for the blond. So he just whispers the next line, tensing up so if an attack does come, Ralph will be ready. “And I think that it’s clear now that it’s you.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jack doesn’t do either of the things that Ralph thought he would do. No punch, no confession. Instead, he pulls away and starts making his way back to the door, leaving Ralph standing there, confused and oddly hurt. The redhead grabs his bag, icy gaze softening when he looks back at Ralph ever so slightly. Just enough for the fair boy to take notice of the shift. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Goodbye Ralph.” And the metal doors close, leaving Ralph alone in the now freezing locker room, an uncomfortably numb feeling in his gut. He can’t even bring himself to try and move to the exit, locked into place by the pure regret coursing through his veins. He doesn’t even like Jack, it was just the moment. If he doesn’t convince himself of that simple fact, then he won’t ever be able to see the redhead again without the rush of adrenaline that you get when you see someone you like. The door slams open again, scaring Ralph out of his thoughts. Jack is rushing back into the room, borderline running over to Ralph. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“God I hate it when you’re right.” And without a second thought, the redhead smashes his mouth against Ralph’s. He knows that he can’t stop Jack, even if he wanted to, and he really </span>
  <em>
    <span>doesn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>want to. His brain has completely given up on him, everything around him becoming a fuzzy haze. Ralph squeezes his eyes shut as tightly as he can, Jack getting aggressive enough for their teeth to bump before he forcefully pushes the fair boy back, hand covering his mouth. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well shit.” Ralph almost echoes the swear, but stops himself, biting his lip. He can’t form a coherent sentence, just stares at Jack, teeth sunk so far into his lip, he might be drawing blood. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jack… I- What did you-? Can you-?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I know.” And Jack pounces into action again, Ralph almost stumbling backwards at the sheer force behind the desperate kiss. He’s trying to be gentler, to urge Jack to slow down and feel everything about the moment. But the redhead overpowers that attempt, shoving the fair boy against the lockers. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“God, you’re amazing.” Merridew mumbles it into the fair boy’s mouth, and Ralph wants to record him saying it and put it on repeat until the end of time. Until he can’t hear anything else besides Jack praising him. Perhaps the boy is simply intoxicating, affecting those he chooses to love with an addictive high that they would kill to feel over and over. Or maybe Jack is Ralph’s drug and Ralph’s drug exclusively. Jack starts to pull at the fair boy’s bottom lip with his teeth, canines dragging against sensitive flesh. It gets so intense that teeth turn into a needle-like feeling, the fair boy pulling away to smack the back of Jack’s head.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Watch it.” The redhead glares at him, eyes blazing with an emotion Ralph can't quite place. He almost breaks the gaze from embarrassment, the situation finally hitting him with full force. Jack has him trapped against the locker, hands pressed so firmly on Ralph’s waist that there has to be bruises in the shape of fingertips. The same panic fills the redhead’s eyes as he untangles himself from the other in a rush, movements so erratic that he almost hits Ralph. The realization has hit them both like a brick wall. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jack what have we done?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Um. We made out in the locker room? I think.” Ralph sends the boy as forceful of a glare that he can muster in the moment, the redhead holding both of his hands up to feign surrender. “Hey it wasn’t my fault, you kissed me back.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What?!?! I’m pretty sure that makes it your fault. Since you initiated it.” Their gaze holds for about 5 more seconds before both of their resolves come crashing down, laughter echoing across the room. Ralph can hardly breathe with how hard he’s laughing, crouching down to the floor as if it will help him get air any faster. Jack speaks first, sentence coming out in between giggles.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well that was interesting. See you tomorrow Ralph.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“See you tomorrow Jack.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Want to request a prompt? Just comment or submit an ask to my tumblr! @mccall-me-maurice</p></blockquote></div></div>
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